Ishmael Sings of the White Whale
by Lizbeth Marcs
Summary: COMPLETE. Angel has a plan to take out the Senior Partners once and for all and avenge the deaths of all his allies. Will his obsession drag Faith down into the abyss with him?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Ishmael Sings of the White Whale  
**Author: **Lizbeth Marcs  
**Fandom: **_Buffy the Vampire Slayer _and _Angel  
_**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer: **_Buffy the Vampire Slayer _and _Angel _are owned by FOX, written and produced by Mutant Enemy, Faith, Angel, Wes, Buffy, Giles, Andrew, and other characters are not mine. All OCs not owned by FOX and ME are mine.  
**Summary:** Angel has a plan to take out the Senior Partners once and for all and avenge the deaths of all his allies. Will his obsession drag Faith down into the abyss with him?  
**Authors Note: **Written for the Faith-Fic-a-Thon. Challenge set The Red Shoes on LJ. The request: Faith, Angel, Wes. Romantic with both or either one, up to the writer. Post-'Chosen' and some addressing of the events of the '5-by-5' torture scene. No onstage Buffy, no nonconsensual sex, no Angelus.  
**Warning**: Multiple character deaths, sexual situations, and profanity.

_Apollo: After you've lost the big one, what else can you do but try to win a few of the little ones?  
Serena: Captain, I think you should know…back there? That wasn't one of the 'little ones.'  
—from _Saga of a Star World, Battlestar Galactica (original series)

**Ishmael Sings of the White Whale  
**By Lizbeth Marcs

"You really need to rest."

Faith snarls into the darkness, her mouth stretched in a rictus across her bared teeth.

"Really, Faith. I understand you're as worried as I am. Truly I do. But you aren't helping Angel if you drop from exhaustion."

She ignores him as she traverses the alley on cat feet. There's a clue. A sign. Somewhere. She just needs to keep on the case. She trips over an unseen piece of litter and stumbles a few steps.

"You're getting careless."

She ignores him as best as she can.

He returns the favor by—_finally_—shutting the hell up.

* * *

Faith is the picture of exhaustion as she crawls into her bolthole just in time for sunrise and blesses the bankruptcy laws that drove these high-tech firms out of business. 

Of course he's waiting for her.

"I did tell you," he sniffs in his light British accent.

She stares through him, focusing on the official-like sign announcing that all contents of this property are scheduled for auction—on May 19, 2002 to be exact. Lucky for her the auction never came off. This property and all its contents have been forgotten; tossed aside like trash on the high-tech superhighway.

Sorta like how she's been tossed aside.

Sorta like how he seems to have been tossed aside.

Otherwise why the hell would he be bugging **her**? Sure, they vaguely buried the hatchet when he broke her out of jail, but he did it only to save Angel from Angelus. He would've left her to rot in prison otherwise. She knows that.

She stalks by him as he leans against the receptionist's desk and hates him for looking so very much the same. When anyone's gone what he's gone through, they should look **different**. They should be fundamentally changed right down to the microscopic level.

Most importantly, he shouldn't be **here**.

She wanders through office jungle to the Great Kahuna Suite. All the comforts of home are here. Foosball table. Nerf basketball net. Ping-pong setup. Leather chair wide enough to accommodate the fattest of fat cat asses. A mahogany desk that just screams, "I've got a very small dick!" An attached bathroom complete with shower stocked with all the hygienic necessities; necessities that she liberated from several drug stores and supermarkets. A real bed, for chrissakes.

And let's not talk about the big-screen TV with high-end, multi-regional DVD player and X-Box.

Too bad there's no electricity. Right about now she could stand to raid the stash of rated XXX DVDs she found in the dick desk. Problem is, according to the descriptions on most of the discs, the porn seems to involve rape fantasies both het and homo, which really isn't what she's looking for. Watching two twinks going at it while some asshole holds a gun to their heads just ain't her cup of tea.

Don't think about fucking tea.

'Course, those are just the XXX DVDs she let stay. The smaller stash hidden at the bottom of the pile definitely involved actors of the underage variety. She set fire to those. While all it managed to do was warp the cases and the discs as opposed to obliterating them like she wanted, she felt was satisfied enough with the attempt.

Maybe that's her problem: being "satisfied enough" ain't cutting it, but she's too afraid of going for the full satisfaction. It's too close to Want. Take. Have. That kind of shit attitude is what landed her in this mess in the first place.

Then again being afraid of going for the full satisfaction is how she lost Robin.

Just when she thinks she's got it all figured out someone goes and changes the road signs on her.

She frowns at the dick desk, the pictures tucked into those now-long-gone DVDs still sticking in her craw. She hopes that wherever Fat Cat Ass is he's experiencing the finer points of prison rape as a guest of the state of California.

"It there's any justice in this world he is."

"Fuck!" she exclaims as she spins around to see Wes lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

Just when she thinks she's used of him haunting her footsteps, he still manages to stop her heart at least once a day.

Awww, who the fuck is she kidding? More like he manages to do it two or three times a day.

And that fucking mind reading thing he does? Drives her up the wall.

"Go away," she clips as she jerks her head to a closed door, "gonna make use of the facilities to shower and shit, not necessarily in that order. So unless you wanna watch my naked ass slide between the sheets, vamoose!"

"Sure you want me to go?" The question isn't flirty or teasing. It isn't a challenge or a threat. It isn't anything really. It's just a question devoid of any layers of meaning.

Faith snorts and stomps into the bathroom without bothering to answer.

* * *

The mean streets of LA are getting meaner with Angel gone. 

She flips back to her feet and spins a kick to the demon's midsection.

Right about now she could use a little of that famous Watcher knowledge.

"You telegraphed that move," Wes says from the sidelines as the big ugly grabs her foot and tries to twist it off.

She goes with the motion, spinning in midair like a corkscrew until the demon fumbles its hold and she drops to the ground with a thud.

"Try being helpful," she mutters as charges her opponent.

A few slams against the brick wall later and she knows this isn't going to end well. She's not exactly afraid of dying. She's more afraid that this thing will leave her broken on the ground and that she'll take just long enough to die for a vampire to find her in the nick of time.

Wes is pacing the periphery, hands behind his back. Faith figures he's trying to come up with a killer move to tell her so she can take the big ugly out. It's not like he can actually hurt the damn thing given his condition.

She's barely keeping her feet now and swinging blindly. Sometimes she connects. Sometimes she doesn't.

"He's playing with you, Faith," Wes says.

"No shit," Faith mutters through a mouthful of blood.

"Perhaps you might consider retreating. It's highly unlikely that it has anything to offer by way of information."

The demon picks her up and throws her to the far end of the alley. She lands on the pavement and rolls, feeling a slight crunchiness in her ribs. She struggles to her hands and knees, shaking her head to clear it of the grey-edged pain.

"Faith," Wes sounds panicked now. How nice that he's finally worried about her well-being. Too bad that he's only desperate to see her get out of this because she's just a means to an end. "Don't try to fight it. Just try to—"

The sounds of a thrown punch connecting interrupts Wes's tirade. Faith wobbly crawls over to the brick wall and then crawls up it until she reaches something resembling a standing position. "What?" she asks.

There's someone fighting the demon using smooth fluid moves that seem relaxed. Demon boy falls back under the assault, probably because she managed to soften up the ugly for the new guy.

And it is a guy. She can tell by the build.

Wes is transfixed by the fight, his expression unfolding into wonder and hope, two things Faith hasn't seen since he showed up out of the blue in one of the many crappy hotel rooms she'd been hiding in.

She knows who her big savior is even before she asks. "Who?"

"Angel." Wes says the word as if it was the answer to all his whispered prayers.

* * *

Faith stretches in bed, feeling the pull of aching muscles under the skin. With a start she realizes that she's not back in the hideout. 

_Shit! Crappy hotel room!_

For a brief second she wonders if the past six months had been a dream. Maybe there is no Wes. Maybe there is no missing Angel. Maybe she's still stealthing in America's forgotten corners on the run from just about everyone who is anyone on both sides of the Slayer divide.

It says something about the past six months that she kind of hopes it is a dream.

"I managed to get breakfast."

The voice is enough to tell her that reality is real, and yes that really is Angel setting some cellophane wrapped Hostess "breakfast food" on the nightstand next to the bed.

Her stomach growls a protest—she hasn't really been eating well since Wes blipped into her life—but she stops herself from going for the satisfaction. Instead she studies Angel. He looks much the same—_yeah, like vampires actually change all that much, dumbass_—if a little bit haunted. Ooooh, yeah. She's so on board with that feeling.

"Splains why the room's dark." It's a fucking stupid thing to say when you're in a darkened crappy hotel room with a guy you know is fatally allergic to sunlight. She can see hint of daylight through the not-very-good blinds. Once stiff breeze from the nonworking air conditioner and the only safe place for Angel would probably be under the bed.

Angel sighs. "I miss necrotempered windows."

"Nekkid wha?" Faith asks.

"Necrotemp—I mean special windows that let the sunlight into the room without turning me to dust."

"Shit. Musta cost you a pretty penny."

Angel's face shifts from his typical weight-of-the-world expression to no expression at all. "Cost me everything I had."

Faith swings her legs out of bed and notices that all her cuts have been bandaged and her ribs are wrapped tight. She's more than a little disturbed that she doesn't remember when the TLC happened.

"You passed out in the alley sometime during the fight," Angel says apologetically.

"Hey, no big." She reaches for her empty calorie breakfast. "Figure you were probably a gentleman given the no sex routine you got going."

And once again Angel's face does its imitation of a marble statue.

"You were a gentleman, riiiiiight?" Faith glares at him.

He offers a tight smile in response. "That I was. Although I couldn't exactly close my eyes while cleaning you up."

"Right," Faith nods. She tries to casually look around and see if she can spot Wes lurking in the shadows as she takes a bite.

Not casual enough as it turns out. Angel notices, but obviously he misreads her reasons. "Yeah, not as comfy as the Hyperion. Certainly nowhere near the luxury of…well…my last place residence," he apologizes. "But it's the best I can do under the circumstances."

Wes mentioned something about a big battle that killed him and scattered Angel and his crew, but Faith is a little fuzzy on the details mostly because Wes didn't give her details, so it's not that hard to play dumb. "Where's the gang?"

Angel's face darkens in a terrifying manner. "Long story. Very long story. I'll fill you in later."

"Angel…"

"You need to rest." Angel stands and crosses the room, cutting off any further questions.

As he heads for a table in shoved in the corner, Faith realizes that it's piled high with books that look very old, very thick, and very difficult to read. She can smell the must and dust just by looking at them.

Angel sits in a seat and reaches out to grab a book. "Really, get some sleep. It's going to be a long night." As he settles in his chair he looks at her, finally cracking a smile. "I'm so glad I found you, Faith. You have no idea how much it means to me that you're here. Of all the people I was hoping to cross paths with again, you were at the top of my list."

No that's not her heart leaping into her throat. And no she doesn't feel warmth in the pit of her stomach. And no, she isn't going to fucking start blubbering because she's so goddamned pleased that someone is happy to see her.

Instead she sinks back onto the mattress and allows herself a relaxed smile. "I'm glad I found you, too."

* * *

Faith can only stare at Angel in dumb disbelief. The takeout Chinese and her growling stomach are forgotten. 

Angel is watching her; his, expression frozen in a frightening imitation of a corpse as he waits for her response.

"Are you fucking joking?" Okay, not a really great question, but it's just about the only thing she can think after hearing what she just heard.

"It's all true," he admits.

"**Wolfram & Hart?** The fuck was going through your head that you'd even think…" She waves off the end of her sentence. "No. Don't fucking tell me. You already told me. Christ on a pogo stick, Angel. You fucking knew there were goddamn strings attached and you walked right into that hellhole."

"I thought—"

"You could tame that bronco, yeah. But Jesus…"

"I paid for that in spades."

"**You** paid? Sounds like everybody else paid in spades. You're definitely still breathing. Or…or not breathing." Faith stands and paces the room; trying to make all the Angels she's seen and heard about in the past few hours match up.

"Faith, please do calm down," Wes says from his shadowed corner.

"You fucking calm down," Faith snarls.

"I'm not the one pacing the room," Angel points out.

"I'm talking to myself," Faith mutters, tossing Wes a glare. Shit. She forgot. Angel can't actually see Wes. She's going to have to remember that if she doesn't want Angel to think she's crazy. Well, crazier.

Angel bows his head. "I understand if you want to walk away."

"Walk away from what, Angel?" Faith asks. "You ain't asked me to do shit." She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. "Look, I may think you were a dumbass to even think Wolfram & Hart would ever play straight with you, but I get that you think it was the only way. I do." She drops back into her former seat. "Hey, been there, done that, served the time, so I ain't exactly a shining example of good choices when life goes down the shitter. But I ain't gonna just abandon you. I won't do that. Not to you."

When Angel looks at her, there's such hope in his eyes that Faith wants to cringe. Suddenly she wants to play Indian giver, take it back, and flee the room. Because she knows—she just **knows**—that she just signed herself up for a gig that's gonna put her in way over her head. Jesus. She never fucking learns. Give her a scrap of affection and a few good vibes, and she's like dog. Happened with her first Watcher, happened with Wilkins, fuck, even happened with Bitchface Lawyer when Wolfram & Hart were sweet-talking her.

But this is Angel. **Angel**. She fucking owes him and owes him big. Besides, it's not very likely he's gonna ask her to kill anyone.

He reaches out and grabs her hands in his own, bringing them up to his lips in a dry, cold kiss. "Faith, I can't…I don't have the words…I can't…" A thousand emotions cross his face, all of them breaking her heart into a million pieces.

"Tell me what you need, big guy."

"You and me Faith," he smiles, "We're going to slaughter the Senior Partners. When we're done with them, they won't even be a memory."

"Oh bloody hell!" Wes explodes.

Angel's smile turns slightly manic. "When it's all over, Doyle, Cordelia, Fred, Wes, Gunn, Spike…they'll finally be able to rest in peace."

* * *

The stake drives home with a satisfying whump and a shower of dust. Years of experience tells her to turn her head quickly—partly to avoid getting grit in her eyes and partly to see if the latest roadkill has buddies. 

Dust avoided and coast clear, Faith allows herself a small, tight smile as she tucks the stake back up her sleeve.

"As I was saying…" Wes begins.

"Jesus, can't you just let it go?"

"Angel is **again** not on the streets tonight," Wes huffs. "He's once **again** locked up with some musty old books containing nothing more than dead languages and lies."

"Glass houses, Wes." Faith tries to walk away but Wes does that shifting thing he does and he's standing right in front of her.

"Surely you must see that he's obsessed."

"What I see is him trying to get the guys who got you. C'mon, Wes, he's trying to pull off some justified vengeance here."

"Eye for an eye? Is that it?" Wes crosses his arms and taps a foot. "If that is how the world should work then—"

"Everyone would be blind? Jesus, try avoiding clichés, will ya?" Faith steps around him because she can't quite bring herself to walk through him.

"That wasn't what I was going to say," Wes snaps at her back. "What I was going to say is that if that is how the world should work then where would that leave you?"

Faith freezes and clenches her fists. She was wondering when Wes was going to hold her past against her. Now that the shoe's dropped she can almost relax.

There's a soft sigh behind her. "I am sorry, Faith. I didn't mean…"

She turns around then, schooling her face to hide the stab wound. "Yes you did."

Wes doesn't bother trying to deny it. "The thing is, Faith, Angel belongs out **here** where he's needed. The demon population is turning L.A. into its personal playground without him keeping a lid on things."

"I got eyes, Wes."

"What's more," Wes continues as if Faith hadn't interrupted, "he needs to reconnect with people. He needs to remember why he fights. He does not need to be locked away in dusty rooms with ghosts and old books that'll just get him lost in a labyrinth. He's not doing anyone any good there, least of all himself."

Faith throws up her hands. "What do you want me to do, Wes? What. Do. You. Want. Me. To. Do. I can **try** to drag him away, but I sure as hell can't make him cooperate."

"Yes," Wes frowns, "Angel won't be led unless he wants to be." He focuses again on Faith, mouth set in a grim line. "I need you to make him want. Make him remember why he fought and for whom he fought."

Faith wonders if Wes was even listening when Angel told her about the deal with Wolfram & Hart and why he was ripping through every mystical and not-so-mystical book he can find, because she can see Angel's reasons clear as day. "Wes, he fought for and is still fighting for his family. Even I get that."

"He's fighting for corpses and corpses don't care," Wes snips.

"You care."

"Note that I don't care about vengeance. I care about—"

"Angel," Faith finishes for him. For Wes it always comes down to Angel. She wonders how much shit he's has put up with over the years because he was doing it all for Angel. Not that she really wants to think about it too hard because—guess what—in the end doing it all for Angel got him killed.

Wes seems apologetic as he says, "I'm sorry to be pushing the issue Faith, but the city needs him. You see how the demonic element is running rampant without him keeping it in check."

Yeah. That she does. "Look, Wes, we only hooked up, what? Three days ago? He's been hanging on his own for six months. Six months is long enough to drive you well and truly batshit. Gimme a break. I need more time."

Wes falls into step next to her as she leaves alley. He can't resist adding, "Not too much more time, Faith. I'm not sure the city or Angel can afford it."

* * *

She finds him standing on a rooftop, glaring at the still-standing Wolfram & Hart building across the street. 

"Well, lookie who's come up for air," she cheerfully says as she vaults to a spot next to him. She can't help tossing Wes a triumphant look as she adds, "It's been a rumble down in the streets. C'mon and give me a hand. It'll get the blood pumping."

Angel gives her a crooked smile. "Not really. No working heart to pump the blood."

"Sheesh. I'm being what ya call metaphysical."

"I think you mean hypothetical," Angel corrects. "You know, if I hypothetically had a working heart, I'd be able to get the blood pumping."

"Whatever," Faith waves it off. "Been here three weeks and this is the first time I've seen you out and about, aside from the big move." She nudges him in the ribs. "So, do you dig the digs or what? All the comforts of home."

"Except for blinds," Angel points out.

Faith kicks the rooftop in embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that. Totally didn't cross my mind. Good thing the bathroom doesn't have windows."

"Good thing there are still fire blankets in the building," Angel adds. "Gotta admit they're great for keeping out the sunlight."

"Hey, I'll getchya some blinds. I've just gotta figure out how to liberate a couple and you'll have all that room to go roaming in the daytime."

"Liberate," Angel deadpans. "Faith, if you get caught shoplifting…"

"I won't get caught. I've got a PhD in liberating supplies for the good cause that is me." Faith's mouth falls into a dimpled grin. She's so happy to see him at least making the rounds in the open air that she feels hopeful. It's a small step, but she'll take it. "Don't sweat it. Those blinds are as good as got when I set my mind to it."

"Faith…"Angel shakes his head and kills whatever he was going to say.

"So, scouting out the enemy turf, hunh?" Faith focuses on the building across the street. "Sure that's smart standing so close? They might have snipers just waiting for you to waltz onto their property."

Angel goes quiet and refocuses on the Wolfram & Hart sign. "Already have."

Faith glances at Wes and sees that he looks surprised. This is news to him. "No shit," Faith remarks as she leans against the small wall at the edge of the roof. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Once more she exchanges looks with Wes. "C'mon, I'm not buying that shit."

"Walked right through the front door," Angel says as if he didn't hear her.

"Now why would you do something stupid like that?" She grabs an arm and squeezes until he turns his head to look at her. "Angel, you could've been dusted."

His laugh sounds brittle as it breaks through the night air. "About a month after…well, I told you it took me that long to even recover enough to stand upright. Thank god for stupid rats, right?"

"I guess," she says as her hand drops.

"I figured the best way to get information about the Senior Partners was to go right to the source," Angel says bitterly. "Maybe I was looking to die, too. That may have been part of it. So, I walk right in and no one stops me. I get on the elevator, and no one even reacts. I might as well have been just a client or a…a…"

"Ghost?" Faith prompts with a meaningful look at Wes.

"For all they reacted to me, yeah." Angel's eyes track to the stars, his jaw working to keep his expression from collapsing into despair. "I made it all the way up to the White Room."

"The White Room?" Wes asks. "You would've been better off going to Records. **That's** where all the information is stored."

"So, they were waiting for you there, right?" Faith already suspects the answer is no. She asked more to shut Wes up so she wouldn't be stuck listening to DVD commentary about what Angel did wrong in this situation.

"No." The word sounds hollow. "Just an avatar for the Senior Partners informing me that I was fired."

"You've got to be shitting me, right?" Faith wants to laugh because she can almost picture it: _Angel, you've wiped out the Circle of the Black Thorn; threw our long-term plans out of whack; killed a large number of our clients and allies; nearly wrecked our offices; and worst of all, our profits are down not just from projections, but from last year. Your ass is fired. Don't expect a letter of recommendation._

Angel chuckles as if he can read her mind. "Turns out that I'm not important enough to kill." He looks at Faith with haunted eyes. "Can you imagine that? For all the damage I did to them even **before** I was CEO of the L.A. branch, the Senior Partners have declared that I'm not worth the effort to even wound, let alone kill."

"Why?" Faith asks.

"They're interested in the vampire with a soul mentioned in the Scroll of Aberjian. **That's** the vampire they want. The one who'll play a pivotal role in the final apocalypse. The one who'll shanshu."

"Shan shoe?" Faith asks.

"I'll explain later," Wes quickly says.

"No one's sure what side that vampire will be on. Could be on the side of good, could be on the side of evil," Angel says almost to himself, "But when it's over, he shanshus and becomes human. That's the epilogue."

"I dunno, Angel. Given that Spike's dust in the wind, that pretty much leaves you as champion and winner," Faith says cautiously.

"No it doesn't." The bitter smile is back. "I signed it away."

Wes's mouth drops open so wide that Faith's pretty sure he dislocated his jaw.

"I don't understand," Faith says.

"I had to prove to the Circle that I was on their side, so I signed away all rights to the prophecy," Angel says. "Besides, it's not like the scroll named me by name."

"So what? They think that they're just gonna find **another** vampire who happens to have soul somewhere around here?" Faith snorts. "Ain't like you guys grow on trees."

"Faith," Wes says meaningfully as he rolls his eyes.

"The point is that it's already happened. Twice," Angel turns to look at her. "That means it can happen a third, forth, or fifth time. Yeah, not going to happen every year," he shrugs, "but the thing is, it could happen again and that's the point. I have no claim to it. Spike is gone since there's no amulet to bring him back. That means the prophecy must apply to someone else."

"That is logical," Wes mutters.

"Once they informed me that I was no longer worth their attention, the room went fuzzy and I was back on the street," Angel says, his eyes once more turning to the building. "I knew right then that they had just made the biggest mistake they'll ever make."

"You want the Senior Partners because they dissed you?" Faith asks.

"What?" Angel looks momentarily confused. "No. That's not it."

"Well that's what it sounds like to me," Faith backs off a step. "You're gonna throw your life away because they gave you a swift kick in the ass."

"This is about justice!" Angel's fist smashes down on the brickwork. Faith can hear the bones crunch in his hand when he makes contact with the surface. "They've stolen everyone that matters from me. Everyone. Do you honestly think that them laughing in my face even **compares**? Do you? They laughed in my face **years** before I chained myself to one of their desks. It would've been like old times if Cordy and…and Doyle and Wes…and…and…"

Angel's voice trails off as he crumples inward, falling in a heap on the rooftop with a small groan of pain. Wes gasps as if he's been stabbed in the gut. Faith can only stand and watch him mourn. She has no idea if she can fix this, but she knows this much: she has to try.

* * *

"See? See?" 

No, she can't fucking see. All she sees are a bunch of overlapping circles with scribbled words in the centers.

"There's the pattern," Angel triumphantly says.

"The same kind of pattern you'd get if you threw a buncha rocks in a pond at the same time," Faith points out.

Angel holds up a finger and, to Faith's surprise, proudly says, "Exactly."

Here she is making the point that these never-ending circles look wicked random to her and Angel thinks she's seeing whatever it is he sees. If there's a pattern then she's failed this inkblot test. Actually, she's being unfair to the inkblots. They made a hella lot more sense when she was behind bars and the social worker on the other side of the table told her to make up shit.

"I'm not getting it." Faith glances over Angel's shoulder to Wes and hopes he at least knows what Angel's talking about.

"Sorry," Wes apologizes in response to her silent plea, "I fear I got lost five minutes into Angel's explanation."

Angel tries again. "This circle right here," he stabs a finger at the page and Faith is pretty damn sure that it's not the same circle he pointed out the first time he tried explaining it to her, "is the Senior Partners. They're the spider at the center of the web."

Faith suppresses a strangled moan. Angel's not going to let this go and she really needs to pee something fierce.

"These circles around it are the layers of different organizations you have to go through to get to them," Angel's finger brushes through the concentric circles around the first circle. Problem is, it's not the only circle with concentric circles that Faith can see scribbled on the pad so she's already lost. Again.

"Now the Senior Partners seed these organizations with their minions," Angel continues, not noticing her pained look at Wes. "These minions take their powers and orders directly from the Senior Partners. Some of them are aware of that, some of them aren't. There is, at minimum, one person in each organization who is in direct contact and is aware of that link. Usually there's more than one in each organization."

Jesus. This is the first time he mentioned minions with a red phone to the People In Charge. If there's someone out there with the direct line, this job just got a whole hell of a lot easier. "So, find the guy who's got the direct link and shake the information loose," Faith says.

"You really haven't been listening, have you?" Wes asks with a sour tone.

"Not that simple," Angel's getting feverish now. "They're well hidden. Very well hidden. They could be anyone and anywhere. They could be at the top of their respective organizations or they could be the janitor."

"Get any more paranoid, we're treading into wack-a-loon territory," Faith says lightly, ignoring the irritated sound Wes makes at her lack of tact.

"When it comes to the Senior Partners," Angel says seriously, "there's no such thing as paranoid enough."

"I'm not scanning the office for bugs every day," Faith says.

Angel only gives her a dry chuckle. "Now these circles here," he sweeps his hand over the overlapping circles each with their own concentric circles—all of them overlapping each other and the concentric circles around today's Senior Partner's circle, "have both direct minions and the minions of the minions. The further away you get, the less likely it is that you'll find the direct minion."

Faith concentrates. She's trying. She really **is** trying, but all she can see is a page so packed with circles that's dangerously close to looking like a page-wide scribble. "So just go for the circles—I mean organizations—that are butt buddies with the Senior Partners."

"I really wish you wouldn't encourage him on this foolishness," Wes growls.

"Like the minions, it's difficult to know which organizations are the ones directly controlled by the Senior Partners and which organizations are several points removed," Angel patiently explains.

Faith begins, "Well, we know Wolfram & Hart—"

"No. We have to steer clear of Wolfram & Hart," Angel says urgently. "I don't want to tip my hand to the Senior Partners and trying to shake more information out of Wolfram & Hart will do just that. I want them to be shocked when I plunge the knife in their chests."

Well, at least he wasn't promising to rip their throats out. Yet. "Angel? Jesus. This is more complicated than Whitey Bulger's mob operation in Southie."

"Exactly!" Angel crows.

Wes throws his hands up in the air and begins to pace.

"Unh, not exactly," Faith corrects. "FBI defanged a lot of Whitey's boys a bit back. Made 'em all turn states' evidence against each other."

"So, this, Whitey?" Angel looks to Faith for confirmation on the name. When he gets a nod, he continues with satisfaction, "Justice got this Whitey. He's paying for his crimes just like the Senior Partners will pay for theirs."

"You might wanna re-think that comparison." Wow, she's just full of the 'not-so-fast' today. That hasn't happened since…well…ever. "Whitey's boys are doing the time or living under the big snitch cloud. Whitey ain't with 'em. He's free as a bird and probably living it up in some South American paradise where the Feebs'll never find him."

Angel's hand falls gently on her shoulder. He looks directly in her eyes and promises, "I'm motivated by more than just a government salary. We'll get the Senior Partners. We're getting closer. I can **feel** it."

What Faith feels is a slippery slope underneath her feet. She suspects that before this is over she's going to be sliding right to the bottom on her ass.

* * *

"I cannot believe this!" Wes is shouting in her ear. 

If he were solid Faith would smack him one.

"We're supposed to be working to get Angel back on the streets and what do you do?" Wes paces around her in circles, keeping up with her as she continues walking. "For the past three days you've been acting like…like…"

"A ho?" Faith finishes calmly. She fingers the four calling cards in her pocket. There's $150 worth in there and she plans to put them to good use. _Thank you John One, John Two, and John Three._

"Well…no…no…" Wes stumbles at Faith's harsh admission, "but this is a bad time to be falling back on old habits."

"Not old habits. Never got paid for it before." Faith feels oddly calm. It scares her how the plan popped into her mind. It scares her that she didn't even flinch carrying out her plan. It scares her that it's come to this.

"I cannot believe…what is going through that head of yours?"

Faith stops and gazes levelly at Wes. "Buffy."

"Buffy? Why on earth—"

"I've been working my ass off for more than two months trying to distract Angel and it ain't working." Faith can hear how even her voice is. "That means I gotta call in the Golden Girl herself. Maybe the big love of his life can wake him the hell up by flashing her twat at him. I dunno. But it's worth a shot."

"But Faith…prostit—" Wes's complaint is cut off mid-word when the Slayer fixes her blank-eyed stare at him.

"I don't see the big deal," she shrugs through the tightness in her back, "been getting laid since I was 14 by dicey guys. Not like there's a real danger, right?"

"That's hardly the point."

"That **is** the point. That's **exactly** the fucking point. Slayer healing means I don't have to worry about the hiv. Slayer strength means I don't have to worry about an asshole making me do what I don't want."

"You wanted to…with that man in…" Wes waves his hands. "I can't even begin to finish the sentence. I'll be haunted with that image for many years to come."

"Welcome to my world," Faith says shortly. She begins to prowl the sidewalk in search of a payphone. "I'm not a hundred percent Buffy'll take a collect call from me and I can't exactly liberate an international phone call from Ma Bell. Money had to come from somewhere and I can't exactly take a legit job given my sterling record."

"There had to have been another way," Wes weakly argues.

"Why the fuck does this bother you so much? Unless you're bugged because you were getting off on watching."

"I wasn't—" Wes shakes his head. "I just don't want to see you degrade yourself for a collection of calling cards."

Faith clenches her jaw at the concern in Wes's voice. Maybe a small part of him, the part that isn't devoted to saving Angel, actually does give a shit about her beyond what she can do for him. "Tell you what," she says softly, "when my minutes run out, I promise to swipe some chick's cell phone and run up her bill."

"A much better plan," Wes agrees. "Even if I prefer that you drop this notion of trying to drag Buffy into this."

That's a first. Someone wants her more than B. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"One, I highly doubt Buffy can be bothered," Wes ticks off on his fingers, "Two, even if she could be bothered, I don't believe she really understands Angel any more, and that's assuming she ever did."

Bullshit. She's not going to let Wes talk her out of this. Reaching out and touching B is worth the shot and she's not going to give up without even trying. This is to help Angel. What she thinks about B ain't even worth factoring into the equation as far as she's concerned. She's laying the bet on B coming running and Angel needing only one look at B's bright shiny face to solve all her problems.

She spots a payphone, smiles, and gives what she knows is a low blow. "Well Wes, we can't **all** understand Angel as well as you do."

* * *

While the receiver pours a chirp of clicks and rings into her ear, Faith shoves the dog-eared number of Giles's lair in England into her jacket pocket. It's her best shot at tracking down B's latest location. Last she heard before she took off from the planning session in Vegas, all the little Scoobs were making plans to scatter. For all she knows B might be in East Cupcake contemplating her navel. 

Someone picks up and a male voice cheerfully announces, "International Council for Women's Rights. We train and educate today's young ladies to be tomorrow's leaders. This is Andrew Wells speaking. How can we help you?"

Son of a…she thought sure the Scoobs would've dumped Andrew in a ditch by the side of the road long before now. She remembers that B barely tolerated him, Xander refused to even look at him, Robin didn't trust his lily-white ass, and the newbie Slayers hid when they saw him coming. Only people who didn't seem to want him to disappear was Giles, who was too damn busy to give a shit one way or the other, and Willow, who at least was willing to talk to him, probably out of solidarity with a member of the "Formerly Evil" club.

Even though she is a member of the "Formerly Evil" club, but she just couldn't warm up to Andrew. The guy struck her as a flakier than a nor'easter and that kind of shit gets people killed. Will get people killed. Yet here he is answering phones like he's some Fat Cat Ass. Then again, she's been outta touch for almost a year-and-a-half. Maybe things have changed. Maybe Andrew changed. Not like she has a whole lot of room to doubt since she's the poster child for turning a new leaf. Faith crosses her fingers and launches into it. "Yo, Andrew. S'me. Faith."

"Faith!" The squeal is so loud that the Slayer has to hold the phone away from her ear, unable to help the wince.

"Good lord!" Wes complains, his wince matching her own.

"So how are you? How's life on the road?" Andrew's voice comes out in a breathless rush. "I betchya just traveling from town to town, saving people like Bill Bixby did in the _Incredible Hulk_, the fuzz and a nosy reporter hot on your trail. I betchya even got a big motorcycle that you can ride off into the sunset after…."

Faith shuts Andrew out. Several times she opens her mouth to get a word in edgewise but the guy just keeps going and going like some vocal Energizer Bunny.

Does this kid even **breathe**?

Finally she gives up and runs roughshod over the squealing. "No. Not traveling right now. Settled in L.A."

The news stops Andrew cold. "L.A.? We've heard some bad things from—"

"Yeah. Wolfram & Hart. Guess you guys would know about that," Faith interrupts before Andrew can go off on another tangent.

"We heard no survivors."

Warning bells start dinging in Faith's head. The Council knows about the story behind the story, but they have no frigging clue about what happened after. It doesn't help that Andrew's voice sounds suspicious and cautious. Well, no surprise there. Wolfram & Hart are up there on the evil hit parade and here Faith has all but admitted that she's in the clued circle **despite** being out of touch with Slayer central. If she were Andrew, she'd be getting pretty damn suspicious herself.

"Not exactly true. Angel's still among the living…I mean unliving…I mean…fuck it. You know what I mean," Faith leans into the booth as she drops her voice. She doesn't exactly believe the Senior Partners have a spy on every corner like Angel does, but it's worth being careful just the same. "He's the one that gave me the straight dope."

Andrew's voice also drops in volume, probably in response to Faith's own tone-it-down voice. "A-a-a-a-are you sure that's wise? He's been corrupted by—"

Faith grits her teeth. Yeah, she heard about how the Council and Giles gave Angel the big kiss off when it mattered. Okay, if she were at Giles's end she'd be cautious, sure, but to completely shut the whole L.A. gang out like they did? After everything Angel did up to and including delivering that goddamned amulet? She would've done more investigating before jumping to conclusions.

"Andrew? I don't have fucking time for this," Faith interrupts with a little more harsh than she intends. "I'm calling from a goddamn payphone in the middle of South Central. I only have so many calling cards I can use and I don't have all fucking night. I need to get Buffy on the horn, as in yesterday. So cough up the contact so I can get busy."

Andrew clears his throat and drops his voice even more. "Buffy's a little…busy at the moment. She really isn't in any position to take your call."

"Listen," Faith growls into the phone, "I didn't ask your opinion. I asked for B's number. I want **her** to tell me she doesn't have the fucking time, not you."

There's more coughing and stumbling at the other end as Andrew starts running through a string of words that Faith knows is going to end with "get lost" and the phone getting slammed in her ear.

Suddenly there's a muffled sound as if Andrew is covering the receiver. She concentrates and blesses Slayer hearing when she hears Andrew's distant voice talking to someone with a female one. "Andrew?" she yells into the phone. "Andrew you little shit! Who are you talking to?"

"Please do calm down," Wes frowns at her.

The female voice gets more insistent, which means someone else at the other end heard her. Ten-to-one it's a Slayer with the complete enhanced hearing package.

Then she hears Andrew's muffled voice, "Nothing….wrong….call…no one…prank…"

"Andrew goddamn it! It's Faith! Faith! Faith!"

There's a sound and the line becomes breathtakingly clear. The sudden shock of the non-muffled receiver hitting something hard as if it was dropped makes Faith jump. The female voice is much more clear as it shouts, "Andrew? Andrew? What's going on? Andrew?"

There's a million-year pause before Faith hears the sounds of fumbling. She yells into the receiver, "Don't hang up! Don't hang up! It's me! It's Faith!"

Another pause before a cautious female voice shoots into her ear. "Faith? Oh god, Faith?

"B?"

"Yeah, it's me," Buffy says warmly. "Is it really you?"

Faith doesn't get it. Buffy sounds almost relieved to hear from her. She has to be wrong about that. As a little bonus, she feels like such a freaking dork. She expected that she'd dialing numbers to countries she'd never heard of just to track B down and then she expected she'd have to plead her case just to get B to even **listen** to her. Not only did she get Buffy at the first place she tried, but also the Queen B herself sounds like she wants to chat.

"Yeah, in the flesh." Faith nervously fidgets. "Well, in the not-flesh. I mean…shit…B?"

"I'm here." No, it isn't Faith's imagination. Buffy definitely sounds relieved.

"Look, I know you're wicked busy"—_C'mon, c'mon, spit this shit out already_—"but I really could use your help. It's Angel."

"Angel?" Buffy sounds hesitant, like she can't believe her ears. "We know about Wolfram & Hart and…and…well, the big battle. You're in L.A.? Did something happen?"

"He's alive."

Faith can hear the sharp intake of breath. _Hook, line, and sinker_.

"How?" Buffy's question is like a silver bullet.

"Luck. For him. Sort of. Everyone else is dead. You know the gang, right? Wes," she gives the ghostly Watcher a glance, "Cordelia, Spike—"

"What…what…Spike?" Buffy interrupts.

Faith frowns. "Yeah, Spike. He was working with Angel after—"

"But Spike's dead," Buffy insists.

"**Now** he's dead. A year ago not so much," Faith insists. "C'mon, didn't Andrew tell you about Angel and Spike visiting your apartment in Rome?"

"No." There's a growl in the answer at just the timbre that always sends electric sparks right to Faith's groin.

_Interesting._ Now she's curious about what B **did** actually know, since it turns out that she doesn't know a hell of a lot. She throws out the bait, armed with the information Angel has fed her over two months. "Well, maybe he didn't want to interrupt your happiness since you were screwing around with that Immortal dude and partying it up in the clubs."

The explosion at the other end of the line is nothing short of spectacular. "WHAT!"

"Hey, don't yell at me. I'm just repeatin' what Angel said Andrew told him and Spike." Faith is especially proud of the fact that she can keep so calm while B's temper goes in a downward spiral.

"Andrew."

That one word is so full of quiet menace that Faith just knows that Andrew's Fat Cat Ass will soon be called mowed grass. "So you wasn't—"

"Robin and I were looking for some key books the Council needed and the Immortal had connections that could get us within sniffing distance," Buffy quickly explains. "That's why we were in Rome and **that's** why I was letting the Immortal drag me all over town posing as his girlfriend. It was a really long month."

"Wait. Dawn wasn't with you?"

"Dawn? She's in boarding school in Switzerland." Buffy sounds confused. Confusion quickly returns to flat anger. "Andrew. Again."

"Wow, sounds like he's not exactly bein' straight up with anybody." Faith's enjoying this too much, probably because she just realized that her job just got a hell of a lot easier. She just **knows** B's gonna be on the first plane to L.A. to save Angel from himself.

So what if some part of her heart is sinking? So the hell what? Angel and her are still buds and Angel ain't gonna just forget about her. _But that's not the point,_ her mind pipes up, _you kinda like the idea that Wes and Angel look at you like you're their last hope. When B's back in the picture, you know that's all going to change. She's gonna be the hero, not you for thinking to call her in._

No. Forget it. She's not going to sabotage this. This is for **Angel**.

"I don't get it," Buffy's voice sounds hurt. "I don't even understand why Angel would even believe that I wouldn't want to see him. I mean, I get Spike. Spike might feel a little…I dunno…like he wouldn't want to because we all thought he died at Sunnydale, but—"

"Unh, Andrew knew Spike was alive for months before they showed up in Rome," Faith interrupts.

"What? How?"

"Dana," Faith simply says. "Remember her?"

"I know who she is. She's in Devon with the Coven for—"

"Ran into Spike then," Faith interrupts. "As for why Angel would think you wouldn't want to see him? Comes down to that visit, too. Andrew said that you said that none of the little Scoobies trusted him no more. That you all thought he'd gone evil."

Faith can almost picture Buffy's shocked face at the other end of the line.

"Andrew," Faith prompts, mimicking Buffy's flat angry voice.

"Faith, are you somewhere I can call you back in 20?" Buffy asks. "I need to make sure Andrew is thrown in a cell in one of the Council's ickier dungeons so I can chat with him later."

"Nope. At a payphone. I'm using my precious supply of calling cards up."

"Fine. Call me in 20. Reverse the charges," Buffy says shortly.

"Right-y-o," Faith cheerfully responds as she rings off.

While waiting she tells Wes the sitch. She takes more than a little comfort in the fact that he's shocked down to his Watcher toes and that he's forced to concede that maybe Faith had the right idea after all. She practices a short version of Angel's story to tell Buffy—making sure to include all the Andrew-related bits—as she keeps glancing at her watch. She lets a half-hour pass before calling.

After going through the ritual of accepting the call, Buffy doesn't waste time. "Tell me."

"Andrew?"

"Turning the house and the grounds upside down to find him," Buffy says with assurance. "Don't worry. We'll get him. Now tell me."

Faith launches into it, looking at Wes throughout the session to make sure she's getting as much right as he can confirm. Buffy occasionally asks a question, more to clarify points than anything else, but otherwise stays quiet.

"…so that about wraps it up," Faith finishes. "Angel's gunning for the Senior Partners, but, B? I'm worried. He's obsessive. He just sits there with his books day-in, day-out. I can't do shit. It's like he's addicted to the ink."

"I don't see what I can do," Buffy says quietly. "As far as Angel's concerned I turned my back on him when he needed me, so I don't—"

"Getchyer ass on a plane and **tell** him face-to-face that you didn't know anything. Tell him you'll take him back. Do **something**," Faith pleads. She can't believe Buffy's even hesitating. "I'm hanging on a heart attack over here. I've tried to do it on my own, but it ain't workin'. Maybe the two of us together—"

"I can't."

Two words and Faith can feel all her hopes shattering.

"Not right now," Buffy clarifies.

"Because of that shit-stain Andrew? C'mon, you got a million Slayers over there, so—"

"Not just that," Buffy interrupts. "That's why I was so relieved to hear from you. Faith, things are bad here. We've been starting to stumble over dead Slayers, Slayers that were murdered before we can get to them. Plus, we're hearing rumors that there's some group out there recruiting **our** Slayers."

"Your Slayers," Faith deadpans.

"We don't know why," Buffy is clueless as she blithely continues. "And Willow right now…there was a spell…a really difficult one and she…well, she…" There's a shuddering breath. "She's alive. Almost didn't survive, but she's alive and that's what's important and—"

"What happened?"

"She lost her mind." It sounds like Buffy's ripping off a band-aid. "She barely knows where she is half the time and…and we're trying everything but—"

"Jeez, sorry about that B."

"Plus Xander tangled with one of those militia groups in the Sudan. Y'know, the ones who've been doing the slave trade thingie and, crap, I'm not sure of the name of the group or why they're capturing people and making them slaves, but Giles knows the sitch," Buffy says. "Anyway, Xander managed to get a message to us through one of our operatives asking us to get Council people down to Sudan to help get him and his people out of the country. He, unh, he kinda did a number on one of the cells to free two Slayers that got caught and wound up with a whole bunch of their frightened friends and family as part of the bargain. So he's on the run with a mess of people looking to him for protection and a whole lot of other people chasing after him howling for his scalp."

"Awww, he's got a couple of Slayers on his side, so—"

"Not sure that's going to help, Faith," Buffy sounds shaken to her core. "The news from Sudan isn't good. The group he's tangled with has got government backing and he's made the 'Most Wanted' list down there if I heard right. I guess murder, kidnapping, and acts of terrorism in a good cause will do that."

"You're fucking kidding. You don't buy that shit, right?"

"Look, I'm telling you what they're charging him with," Buffy snaps. "And believe me, I have no doubt that kidnapping charge is bullshit since those people are running **with** him and not away from him. But murder and terrorism? To get those Slayers out of there? You bet I believe it."

"You're not going to leave him swinging, are you?" She's now caught up in B's excuses. If she's gonna fail she might as well know why.

"Of course not!" Buffy slips into defeat. "I just hope we can get him and his people out of there before the government or one of their militias get their hands on him."

Faith tries one last time. "Look, I get that shit's raining down on your head, I do, but Angel really needs you."

There's a chuckle at the other end masking a sob. "I want to be there. I **do** want to be there, but Faith…I can't. I just can't. Not right now."

"B, there's **always** shit raining down on your head. You are the **queen** of shit raining down on your head." Faith knows she's pushing too hard now. She got her answer, but damn it she has to try. "This week it's Andrew, Willow, and Xander. Next week it'll be something else. You know it and I know it."

There's a frustrated sigh at the other end and Faith for a moment lets herself hope that she managed to convince B to get on that plane.

"Look, it sounds like Angel isn't moving anywhere right now…" Buffy begins.

"**Today**. If he thinks he's got a straight shot at the Senior Partners tomorrow, I have no fucking clue what he'd do," Faith insists.

There's a stretch of silence. "I have to take my chances. Faith, I promise…look…call me in three weeks. Four weeks, tops. I promise I will get on that plane when you call. By then Xander'll be safe and we'll know how we'll be able to help Willow find her way back. Plus, we'll have Andrew in custody. I suspect he knows how the other guys are finding the new Slayers. I just…once those three things are cleared up I'll be able to go to L.A. with a clear conscience and help you help Angel."

Disappointment tinged with the tiniest bit of guilty relief rages through Faith's solar plexus. She tried. No one can say she didn't fucking try. "Fine. Three weeks, B. You better have your bags packed."

"Call me if you need anything, Faith, and make sure to reverse the charges." Buffy sounds fervent. After a brief pause, she adds, "I wish you were here right now. We need you."

The receiver feels heavy in her hand. She wonders how much it killed Buffy to say it. "Yeah, well, Angel needs me more."

"Fair enough." Buffy then says her good-byes and rings off.

Faith stares at the receiver a few moments before putting the handset in its cradle.

"She's not coming, is she?" Wes asks. "I did—"

"Don't," Faith holds up a warning finger, "do not say it. I don't wanna hear it right now."

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Ishmael Sings of the White Whale, Part 2  
**Author: **Lizbeth Marcs

She makes a beeline right back to her lair. Wes, for once, is mercifully silent as he ghosts in her wake.

She bursts through the door shouting Angel's name. Right. Plan B. A crappy Plan B, but it just might work.

The vague idea that theoretical demons need to be Slayed and that Faith has her hands full on her nightly patrols ain't working. Now that she's got names of real people Angel knows who need saving, it just might kick him in the nuts. Well, probably not Xander so much since there's no love lost there. But he fucking **owes **Willow big-time since she souled him not once, but twice. Maybe dangling a needy Willow paired with a needy Buffy might shake him just enough.

She suspects that this plan is doomed to fail as spectacularly as Plan A, but she's grasping at straws.

One, two, three spins around the office tell her that Angel is absent. It's a temporary absence. No way Angel would leave his piles of books and scribbles behind. She plops on the bed and waits.

"Perhaps he's gone out on a patrol of the streets?" Wes tentatively offers. Faith can tell by the sound of his voice that Wes doesn't really believe it either. "Perhaps he heard someone was in trouble and left to help?"

"Dude, he could hear a nuclear explosion right outside our front door and he wouldn't budge," Faith says dispiritedly.

"And yet he's not here."

"No-fucking-duh."

The witty repartee is interrupted by the sound of someone entering the outer office. Faith's off the bed like a shot and nearly runs over a burdened Angel. "The hell?" she demands when she takes in the pile of books he's lugging, all of them looking as old and as musty as the collection he already has.

"I needed the additional references," Angel says apologetically. "I had run into a dead end—"

"You're **walking** right into a fucking dead end," Faith says numbly. The sight of the books makes the calling cards in her back pocket overheat like they're about to brand her ass with one big, fat scarlet rectangle. "Where did you get the money for the books?"

"I'm borrowing them."

Faith reaches out and slaps the pile from his hands, scatting the books in a wide spread over the desks and industrial carpet. "You mean you fucking stole them!"

"I didn't steal them," Angel insists angrily as he bends to pick up the books. "I'll return them after I get the information I need."

Faith reaches out and hauls Angel upright. "When will that be? Hunh? **When?** When Gabriel gives his horn a big blow?" She gives him a shake. "Look at you. Fucking look at you. You're fucking **stealing**. You. These aren't goddamned rats in an alley you happened to find."

"Faith…"

She can't take it. She throws her hands up. "If you get caught…maaaan. They'll arrest your ass. Hell, you might be being followed right now. If they get you they just might get me. And jail? I ain't going back. No way, no how. I'll jump off a fucking building first. And you? **You** will be dust when Mr. Sun comes a pokin' through the bars. Fucking think! Why aren't you fucking thinking!"

A pair of sturdy arms engulfs her and she realizes that her breath is hitching. She's not crying because her tear ducts never did work right in that regard. All she can feel is this rising panic that Angel is taking such goddamned stupid chances over books. Books aren't what keep either one of them fed. Books don't keep out the killing sunlight. Hell, you can't even rip the pages out of the books and use the paper to wipe your ass. In the list of necessities both of 'em need to get by, books don't even make an appearance.

"I'm not going to get caught," Angel says gently into her hair. "I'm not going anywhere. I won't abandon you like that. I'd never do that to you."

It's too much to take in. First the news from England and now Angel promising something she can't comprehend.

"Shhhhhh. Don't cry."

She's crying? How the hell did that happen?

She pulls away and with a shaky finger brushes under her right eye to feel the betrayal. She stares dumbly at her hand, trying to piece this together. Angel simply touches her hand and brings her fingers up to his mouth in a kiss. Somehow his lips transfer to her forehead, then to her cheek, before settling on her lips.

* * *

The thing she remembers most about that first time is how Angel was not warm. He wasn't cold, but he wasn't warm. She remembers the taste of his mouth: not pleasant, but not unpleasant. Slimier than the usual guy, maybe, with tongues wrestling and jostling as they slid around each other.

She remembers how quickly he went from not-warm to warm; how his mouth went from metallic and cool to hot and inviting.

She doesn't want to think that somehow he was leeching off her heat.

She remembers the tactile sensation of hands, skin-on-skin, and the brush of his hair across her exposed breasts.

She can sometimes still feel the cooling trail of kisses down the length of her body and remember how surprised she was that his cheeks were so smooth between her thighs. How fingers and tongue knew just how to work so her toes scrunched, her fists clenched, her back arched, and all her muscles locked.

But when they moved together—the feel of him drilling right to the core of her; the murmured desperate nonsense words; the feel of him unloading all his sorrow, destroyed dreams, and lost hopes inside her—he felt very much like any other guy.

Except for this part: he didn't breathe. He gasped and groaned and moaned, but there was no sense that any air was involved in the process.

She remembers how quickly he cooled when he rolled off her and how what he left behind felt a little wrong somehow. It was too thick and too tacky against her skin. What was left inside felt more like a weight that would stay put instead of leak out onto the sheets.

She remembers shivering against his not-warmness even as he pulled her to him in that bed.

The hell of it is this: there were times that came after when she felt like she'd never feel that warm again.

* * *

Faith wakes with a start. _What the fuck did I just do?_

There's no sign of Angel…maybe Angelus, which is her cue to jump bare-ass naked out of the bed and start looking for something she can turn into a stake.

"He's not Angelus."

"Jesus Wes!" she jumps and spins around, her breasts swinging without a bra to hold them in place.

"He's not Angelus," Wes repeats.

"Oh." She's really not sure how to take the news. On the one hand, good, because she won't have to deal the idea that she might have to stake a monster with a friend's face because there ain't no way to get his soul back without Willow. On the other hand…

Well, she knew she wasn't exactly B, didn't she?

Without another word, she hunts for her clothes, stubbornly refusing to pick up her pace and pretend to be embarrassed. If Wes were anything resembling polite he'd let her dress without watching her. Then again he pretty much stood and watched there while she sucked and fucked her way to getting those calling cards. He probably was jacking off in a corner while she took a test spin on his precious Angel.

Bastard.

"What were you trying to prove back there?" Wes asks as she throws the clothes she finds on the bed. "Do you really think sex is the way to—"

Wes is interrupted by Angel's appearance. The vampire is bearing a nighttime breakfast of Hostess and powdered milk. "I'm not Angelus," he quickly explains as he places the packages on the dick desk.

"Yeah, I figured, since I seem to remember Angelus wasn't a breakfast food kinda guy." She's still standing around naked, which is a little surreal. Usually when the deed is done they leave, she leaves, or if they're Robin, there's something resembling an attempt at deep conversation. Having a rational conversation while your pubes are exposed and the other person is dressed is strange even for her.

Angel sighs and drops in a chair, but Faith notices that his eyes are hungrily crawling over her body like he wants to do her again. Despite the fact that he wasn't happy enough to loose it over her, she likes this honest display of want even though he's already had. She leans against the wall, spreading her legs just a little as she crosses her arms under her breasts. The room is cool enough that she can feel her nipples goose pimple slightly.

Yeah. She's fucking preening; teasing Angel and maybe even Wes. What of it?

Angel shakes his head as if he's just given himself a mental slap for looking at Faith like a piece of willing meat. "It's not you. It's me."

"Don't know what you're talking about. I ain't got no complaints. Ain't like you drooped in the clinch, right? Plus, I got off, what? Five times to your one? You're the one who should be bitching, not me." She sounds defensive to her own ears. Jesus. Can't she just drop the shields for five fucking seconds?

Angel gives her a tight smile. She doesn't fool him for a second. "About the happiness thing and still having my soul. Faith, I'm trying to say it's not you. I **know** it's not you. What we did…it felt good. As good as anything can be these days, I mean. And I don't regret it, but I don't think I can ever…what I mean is…"

"You sound pretty sure that the big O ain't gonna cost you the big one," Faith comments.

Angel huffs a sigh and admits to something shocking, "I actually was having sex with…well…someone before I lost…I mean I was in an intimate relationship, physically intimate anyway, and I didn't even feel a tug."

"Nina," Wes remarks. When Faith looks at him, he quickly ads, "Most likely Nina, although I'm rather surprised he chanced it. I'll explain later."

Angel's studying his hands now. "The fact is that perfect moment of happiness is out of reach for me now. Looking back, I'm not sure that just having sex, even with someone I care about like with you, has been enough since Doyle died."

Well, she's not buying that shit. "Hello? You **do** remember why Wes broke me outta jail, right?"

"Did Wes tell you how they managed?" Angel looks at her, pleading for her to understand. "They needed an illusion spell to do it. In order for me to loose my soul, everything had to go 100 percent right. I had to have everyone around me happy, too. That means Wes and I, we…well we had to become friends again. Connor needed to love me. Wes and Gunn had to bury the hatchet. And **then** I had to not only get Cordelia back, but make love to her."

"Extraordinary," Wes remarks with a touch of wonder. "I didn't know."

"You mean you had to be the absolute hero and everything had to get solved for you to even come close to losing your soul," Faith interrupts.

Angel's mouth tics, although Faith's not sure if it's to stop from crying or to stop from smiling. "I don't think I'll be able to achieve that perfect happiness again because—"

"I know," Faith stops him before he can again go through the list of things he lost. She slowly walks over to him, feeling about three inches tall because of her jealousy act. Wes is right. Calling Buffy was a big mistake on more than one level. B will never, ever understand this. But she does. She gets it.

When she reaches Angel, she stops and pulls the still-seated vampire into a hug. After a hesitant beat, Angel's arms drift to her waist and he wraps his arms around her torso.

He holds her so tightly that she can barely breathe.

* * *

"If you're hoping love is the answer, I think it's time for a new tactic."

"It's not a tactic, Wes." Faith takes a running start and jumps the gaps between buildings. She lands with a grunt as the weight in the backpack shifts. "And it ain't love. I think."

When she looks up, she's not surprised to see Wes is standing right in front of her.

"Look, I can understand the…the comfort aspect…"

"No one said you have to fucking stand there and watch."

"I'm not—"

"Wes? Yes. You. Have. More than once. Now maybe not all the time—"

"Can't possibly watch the two of you go at it all the time," Wes huffs. "During the daytime you two are constantly humping away. I've come to believe the sheets constantly undulate even when the two of you aren't under them."

"Girl's got needs, Wes," Faith says maliciously. "Too bad you can't join in on the fun, right? Wouldn't you want a piece of this?" She hooks a thumb in her belt loop and lets a hand rest right over her crotch. "Oh, wait. I forgot. You want to **be** me so Angel can stick it to you."

"That's uncalled for!"

"And you constantly fucking nagging me is uncalled for," Faith spits as she walks across the roof.

"It's just I can't believe you're encouraging him even further in this madness."

"So you think now that I've got him by the balls, I should kick him to the couch until he cooperates?"

"I'm not entirely sure who has whom by the balls in this situation," Wes sourly rejoins.

With an irritated sigh, Faith turns around and faces her Jiminy Cricket. "Baby steps. He **cares** about me, Wes."

"He's always cared about you," Wes replies shortly.

"Listen. Just try, for once in your life, to fucking listen to me," Faith snaps back. "He cares about me and I care about him." The look of doubt on Wes's face makes Faith angry. "I really **do**. He gave a crap about me long after everyone else decided I was shit that needed to be flushed, **including** you. So don't you **ever** fucking doubt I care about Angel."

Wes's eyes narrow in anger, but he doesn't interrupt.

"Thing is, sooner or later, he's gonna wanna help the one he cares about, right?" Faith lowers her voice to a reasonable tone. "I'm out here fighting my ass off and sooner or later he's gonna come with."

"You're not fighting now. Right now you're picking up books for him," Wes angrily points out.

"Look, I gotta give a little on this, right? Show him that I'm willing to help him and give him the benefit of the doubt," Faith responds. "Then, when I start asking him for help, he can't exactly kick me to the curb. Why? Because I've been a good little Slayer and lent him a hand when he needed it. Give-and-take, Wes. Simple."

"Since when do you know anything about give-and-take," Wes growls.

"Still the same ol', Wes." Faith can feel the disappointment in her cheeks as she turns away. "You just don't wanna believe I know shit or that I actually fucking give a shit about other people."

"Do you?" Wes asks with a nasty edge. "Seems to me that all you know how to do is run away when the going gets tough. And when it gets tough with Angel, and you know it will, I just wonder where you'll run to next."

Faith spins around ready to tell Wes to go to hell and to fuck himself on the way there when a scream stops her. "Where'd that come from?" she snaps.

"The alley we just jumped over it sounds like," Wes urgently replies.

Faith's off and running back the way she came. She stops short of the ledge to look down into the darkness. Sure enough, something fang-y has cornered a couple. "Awww, fuck," Faith mutters as she begins to desperately pace the roof to look for a fire escape. She finds one, but it puts her behind the couple and in front of the vampire.

"Faith, you best hurry," Wes urges.

"Get down there. Let me know if there's something I need to watch out for, like more bloodsucking dweebs." As Wes blips off the roof, Faith swings onto the fire escape and races for the bottom. Her boots clatter on the metal as she scrambles and swings down the stairs as fast as she can. When she judges that she's close enough to the ground to guarantee an on-your-feet landing, she vaults over the fire escape railing.

"He's just the one." Wes sounds relieved.

"Thanks," Faith mutters as she pulls a stake out of her sleeve.

It's a very short fight. Vampire-breath charges her, she charges him, her arm swings, he blocks, she fakes a punch, he ducks, and then she slams the stake home to the rousing applause of a dust shower.

She turns to assure the couple that she just scared a mugger off, but her voice freezes in her throat when she gets a look at them.

They're just standing there. Normally in a situation like this people would be cowering against the wall or angrily demanding an explanation. Instead, they look at her like they know exactly what just went down.

"A most excellent display," a male voice says behind her.

She spins around and sees a man in a business suit bearing a briefcase. She tosses Wes a questioning look. He shrugs in return.

"Now, don't be alarmed," the man assures her as he confidently approaches. When he stops, he snaps open his briefcase and presents her with a sheet of paper.

"What the hell is this?" she asks.

"A waiver against suing," the man responds as if this was the most natural thing in the world. When Faith continues to stare dumbly at him, he quickly apologizes. "I'm sorry. My manners. Here's a pen."

"A pen," Faith deadpans.

"For you to sign the waiver," the man patiently explains.

"Don't sign it!" Wes shouts. "He's Wolfram & Hart!"

"Oh, dear. Is Mr. Wyndham-Price falsely shouting fire in a crowded theater?" the guy asks.

Faith takes a step back as Wes yelps in surprise.

The man sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yes, I do indeed represent Wolfram & Hart and these," he waves at the couple, "are the bait, if you will."

Oh, fuck! Trap! Faith wildly looks around for hidden attackers.

"Now, please…Faith, is it? We're not going to attack you," the man sounds reassuringly bored. "That was our **last** administration. We certainly don't go hunting for demons or Slayers under the new regime."

"What the fuck do you want?" Faith grits, her eyes still scanning the shadows. She doesn't dare make a run for it because she's willing to bet there's a SWAT team waiting for her somewhere close by.

"Just to sign this waiver promising you won't sue for any injuries or damages sustained during this operation." He holds the pen and paper out in one hand. "This won't bite. You don't even have to promise your soul or anything like that. If it was something more, shall we say, heavy-duty we'd need you to sign in blood and we're certainly not asking you to do that. Simple pen and ink, my dear."

"What do you want?"

The guy sighs. "For you to sign the waiver."

Faith wrinkles her nose and decides to go for broke. "Fuck you."

The probably-lawyer shakes his head with disappointment as paper and pen disappear in the briefcase. "Not surprising, I suppose. Well, I fear I'll just have to chance it then."

Faith backs away as the couple skitter around to her left so that they eventually end up behind the guy in the suit. "This is about Angel and his big plans, isn't it? You guys fucking know what he's up to."

"Faith!" Wes hisses.

"This is not at all about Angel," the man smoothly assures her. "What Angel does is of little interest to us."

"Really," Faith deadpans.

"Angel can feel free to hunt down the Senior Partners," the man waves his hand in an effete manner. "Frankly it's disappointing. We expected so much better from him." He shrugs. "Oh, well. Perhaps we did back the wrong horse after all."

"You bastards are going fall someday," Wes growls.

"Now, now, Mr. Wyndham-Price," the guys responds without looking at the ghostly Watcher. "I know you didn't leave the firm under the best of circumstances, but rudeness is unnecessary. And may I add that the way you left was overkill. A simple letter of resignation would have sufficed."

"Let's get out of here Wes," Faith says.

"Well, perhaps next time," the man says cheerfully as he turns to leave. "I look forward to seeing you again…" He stops and turns to look at her, eyebrows creasing in confusion. "Ahh, yes. Faith. Amazing how your name keeps slipping my mind. Do watch your back. Coming back to California after your prison escape was not your wisest move." He smiles innocently. "But then, I do recall your dossier showed that you could be quite unpredictable."

"I'm not worried," Faith insists as her stomach clenches. Maybe that SWAT team is the LAPD just waiting to bag an escaped con.

"Please. We have no interest in turning you over to the state." He pauses a moment before adding, "Unless you cause one of our clients grief. Then I fear the gloves will have to come off."

Faith manages to keep standing strong until assface and company leave the alley. The second he's out of sight, she scrambles up the fire escape, muttering, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," until she lands on the roof.

Angel's fucking on to something. He **must** be on to something. Otherwise why would those bastards from Wolfram & Hart corner her just so they could try to laugh it off in her face?

"Unless they're trying to reinforce the idea that Angel should remain distracted by his hunt for the Senior Partners so they can pull off whatever nefarious plans they've got waiting in their files," Wes says. "Or maybe they were simply trying to scare you into leaving the state."

"Stop it!" Faith hates the edge of hysteria to her voice. She's wigged out by the fact that Wes just pulled his mind-reading shit again. She's wigged by the appearance of a real, live Wolfram & Hart employee. She's wigged by the fact that they were trying to get her to sign something.

She's most especially wigged by the fact that they know what Angel is doing.

Which just lends a whole lot more credence to Angel's paranoid idea that Wolfram & Hart is everywhere and everywhen. If they know about Wes, they probably fucking **know** everything.

Are they safe? Are they even close to safe? Has someone been following her? Maybe they really are responsible for everything. Maybe they even can reach to England and are responsible for tempting Andrew to betray the Council, and zonking Willow, and hunting Xander because, hey, that would make sense since it would be enough drama to keep Buffy well away from Angel. For all she knows, some of those books Angel's got could be a plant to send him off in the wrong direction. Maybe, just maybe, there really aren't more demons hanging around. Maybe they've been sending them after her so she could be all convinced that things are getting worse, which would give her fuel to believe that Angel is barking up the wrong tree with this Senior Partners horseshit.

No. Not horseshit. Maybe it ain't horseshit at all.

"You're panicking," Wes calmly says. "Between this incident and Angel's constant talking about the power of Wolfram & Hart, you're not thinking clearly."

"How do I know you're on the up-and-up?" Faith feels stupid for not asking the obvious question sooner. "For all I know, you could be the First because it could appear as dead people and you are most definitely dead."

"Don't be ridiculous," Wes frowns at her. "I highly doubt that the First—"

"You weren't **there** Wes or whoever the hell you are." Faith backs away from him. "The First can come on so honey-sweet and when you least expected it—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Wes throws up his arms, "you said yourself that you hadn't seen or heard from the First since the Sunnydale Hellmouth closed. Furthermore, you've been complaining that I've been driving you too hard."

"Yeah. Why **are** you, hunh?" Faith asks. "Why are you so ready to toss out the idea that Angel's being an idiot?"

"I never called Angel an—"

"That's it. I'm done." Faith cuts him off. "I'm taking a closer look at this Senior Partners sh—I mean stuff. I think it's time I made up my own fucking mind instead of letting everyone yammer at me about what's right and what's wrong around here. I am **done** taking you at your word."

"Faith!" Wes yells.

Faith spins on her heel and stalks away.

Wes keeps yelling her name over and over. She can even hear the desperation in his voice.

* * *

The days bleed into each other.

There's research time and then there's sex time. The demarcation is pretty clear. Research time starts when the sun sets. When the books come out, it's business only. Sex time starts when the sun rises. When the books close, it's time to play.

Research time includes going to get books. Sometimes it's from skeevy dealers with back rooms hidden behind curtains. Sometimes it's smuggling a book out of a library. Sometimes it's breaking into someone's house to borrow a book.

Research time involves reading. It involves raising questions. It involves testing assumptions. It involves sketching out ideas on endless pieces of paper. It involves finding answers. More, it involves weighing contradictory answers against each other, trying to determine which answer is the right answer.

Research time is hard. Faith's head usually starts to hurt somewhere during the early morning hours, but she keeps pushing. She keeps trying to understand. Sometimes she swears she can almost see a pattern. Sometimes it looks random.

Sex time is more fun, but in its own way hard. Sex time depends an awful lot on how research time has gone. If research time has been good, the sex time can last almost all day. It involves tender touches, words of endearment, experimentation, whispers, and sighs. It can be gentle with just the right touch of rough. Sex time when research time is good always takes place on soft surfaces with soft mouths.

But when research time is not good, the sex can be brutal. They hit and scratch against each other, screeching frustration in a mix of pleasure-pain. If research time is not good, sex time takes place on hard surfaces, at painful angles, with growls and wordless grunts and it's over too soon. There's always a little blood when research time is not good. Sometimes it's his; sometimes it's hers.

Faith is okay with all of it. Variety is good, and if you can get it in one package it's even better. Angel is all about variety.

She's pretty sure she slept at some point, although she's not entirely sure when. And even if she managed to close her eyes, couldn't've been more than an hour or two at a time. She knows she ate, but she knows it wasn't enough. Her bones are more bone-y and her clothes are hanging looser. She's pretty sure she's lost a cup size. She's really not sure on the showering because her hair is limp and the strands are starting to separate.

Through it all Wes stands in a corner and glares at her, the glass in his eyeglasses glinting angrily at her every move. He refuses to leave her alone. He follows her around, steadfastly watching her and Angel go at it. He even follows her into the bathroom whenever she takes a piss.

But he doesn't say anything. Not one word.

* * *

"See? See?"

No, she can't fucking see. But that's because she doesn't read Latin.

"Look. See this here?"

She can't fucking see that, either. But that's because she doesn't read…is that Chinese or Russian? She ain't fucking sure. It's one of those languages that don't use proper letters.

"We're getting close. I can feel it," Angel nods. He stares down at the book. "Who'd think that Wolfram &Hart had so much power in World War II Greece?"

Faith slams the book shut. Her headache is out of control tonight. It's been slowly building over the past two days until she's ready to scream from the pain.

Angel looks at her with sympathy. "I think you need a break," he says gently.

"No. I'm good. Really," Faith insists. "It's just you keep showing me books written in languages I know shit-all about. I'm barely understanding the books written in fucking English."

He places a hand on her upper arm and tenderly rubs as if that's the spot that's causing her pain. "When was the last time you got out?"

"Fuck all if I know."

"Six weeks," Wes answers for her.

Faith shoots Wes a glare. He gives **her** the silent treatment and the first thing he can say is **six weeks**? He fucking should be apologizing. That should be the first fucking thing out of his mouth.

Angel kneels in front of her. "Take the night off. Go and hunt."

"I'm—"

"Fine. Yes, you said." Angel frowns at her, worried eyes studying her face. "But you've been cooped up here for so long that I feel guilty. You should be outside getting some fresh air."

"Come with?" she asks.

He chuckles. "I don't need fresh air as much." He plants a tender kiss on her forehead. Research time must really be going well, better than usual, Faith figures. He adds, "Have some fun and don't come back until you do."

She mentally debates with herself, but the pounding behind her eyes is enough to convince her. "I won't do anything you wouldn't do. And if I do? I promise to take pictures."

"Yes!" Wes cheers.

Angel flashes her a smile and waves her off.

* * *

Her night off is more like a working vacation. There seem to be vampires everywhere she looks. If she didn't know better, she'd think someone was breeding them in a lab.

It doesn't help that she's not up to snuff. She's still staking them, but she's gotta work harder for the privilege.

To no one's surprise, Wes isn't helping.

"Call Buffy."

"Fuck. Off."

"Call. Buffy. You said you would."

"What's with call B? **You** said it was a bad idea. And guess what? You were right."

"Faith…" Wes grits his teeth and starts again. "I know you've decided to throw in with Angel."

"Please, break my heart why dontchya." Faith rolls her eyes and starts to walk away.

"Sooner or later Buffy's going to come looking for you and him," Wes says as he trots after her. "You promised you'd call her in three weeks and almost two months has gone by."

"Well that tells you something."

"Tells me what, exactly?"

Faith stops and looks at Wes. "That tells you that if B gave a flying shit, she'd already be here. I shouldn't have to call to tell her to get her ass on a plane. She shouldda been here the second the dust-up happened with Wolfram & Hart."

"If I recall, Andrew was feeding them lies about—"

Faith turns to walk away again. "She shouldn't've listened to fucking Andrew. She should've done some checking around herself."

"Faith, you have to give her one more chance." Wes is desperately whining.

"She don't deserve it."

"You got one more chance."

Faith stops and clenches her fists. He's doing it to her again.

"Everyone deserves a second chance. You should know that more than anyone."

Faith turns around, feeling the rage running along her spine. "This is the last time, Wes."

"Last time?" The son of a bitch has the nerve to look confused.

"This is the last fucking time you play me by playing that fucking card."

"What card?" Wes asks with frustration.

"Oooooh, Faith-y's a bad little girl. Faith-y's been so misguided. Faith-y's got to kiss my fucking ass for the rest of my fucking death because she screwed me over and messed my life up." Faith pokes at him, but her finger goes right through his chest. "Forget it. You fucked yourself up, buddy. I ain't taking the fall for all the shit that's happened to you in your goddamn life. Yeah, I screwed up and screwed you over. Whatever you did after that is on your own goddamn head."

Wes stands firm in the face of her verbal assault. She's got to give him that much.

"Point taken," he finally says with a whisper. "But please, one more try. Give her one more chance."

"Why?"

"Angel needs help. **You** need help," Wes says with a hint of desperation showing. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Haven't you noticed that you're not as strong tonight? You haven't been taking care of yourself and you **need** to do that. I don't want to see you hurt because…" His voice trails off with the unspoken sentiment.

Faith uncomfortably looks everywhere but at him and resists the urge to go find a window so she can take a closer look at herself. She knows the reflection isn't going to be pretty.

It's that realization more than anything that forces her to agree. "Fine. I'll call B. But this is the last time I try. She's got one strike. If she strikes out tonight, I ain't going for a third."

"Fair enough," Wes nods.

* * *

It takes a few blocks and a vampire staking to find a phone that's reasonably isolated from casual foot traffic. Her heart momentarily stops as she pats her jacket pockets down for the phone number. She doesn't remember throwing it away, but she doesn't remember keeping it. When she pulls out a crumbled piece of paper, she breathes a sigh of relief. As she dials she mutters, "Here goes nothin'."

There's the expected clicks and whirs and the operator interruption. She gives up the number and the fact it's a collect call to the voice at the other end. One threshold crossed, she lets the series of burping rings wash over her while Wes impatiently taps his foot. She's just about ready to hang up when someone finally picks up at the other end. Before the person can identify himself or herself she barks in irritation, "I need to speak to Buffy. It's Faith."

She hears the phone fumble and a female go through the ritual of "yes-I-accept-this-incredibly-expensive-collect-call-so-please-get-your-operator-voice-off-the-line-so-we-can-talk." Once that's over, the female voice calls out without any further niceties, "It's Faaaaaaith."

There's more fumbling, the sounds of a muffled argument, and then the line is clear. "Faith?"

It takes Faith a few moments to identify the croaking, raw voice. "B? That you?"

"They're dead."

"Who? Who's dead?"

The sound of a strangled, muffled sob traverses the phone line and zips right down Faith's spine.

"Xander and Willow…oh god."

She freezes at the news, not understanding why the world seems to have stopped as she clutches the handset and huddles closer to Ma Bell's avatar on earth. She looks at Wes, but he's no help there. Jesus. He doesn't even look the least bit curious about the news. Even though Wes would probably tell her that she was getting off track, she decides she's damn well gonna make the time.

"What happened?" she asks, not sure she really wants the details.

"A week ago," Faith imagines Buffy rallying even as the other woman's tongue trips. "Actually, we officially got the news about Xander three days ago, but we knew a week ago."

"How?"

There's a shuddering indrawn breath somewhere in England telling Faith that Buffy is slowly bleeding to death inside. "We thought Willow was getting a little…a little…better. She seemed…well, not exactly with us but more with us and then…" There's a sob-cough in the voice. "She wakes up in the middle of the night a week ago screaming that Xander was dead."

"You didn't take her seriously, did you?" Faith feels something go cold inside. She can almost picture what happened next and she needs to hear it.

"We thought it was just a nightmare. I mean, we tried to keep the news about what happened in Sudan away from her, but keeping a secret around here…" There's a bitter laugh. "We couldn't be sure she didn't hear something. We told her it was just a nightmare and that Xander would be back in a couple of days to prove she was wrong. But she insisted…instead…"

"Let me guess: you kept telling her and telling her that everything is hunky-dory and you thought she bought it." Jesus. Why the hell is she so angry?

"It's my fault," Buffy whispers. "All my fault. I should've stayed with her."

"What happened?"

"Next morning we found her and…she used bed sheets, Faith. We left her alone and…she'd been dead for hours."

Buffy crumbles at the other end of the line. It's a sound that strikes right to the core of her. Buffy does **not** crumble. Buffy **never** crumbles. Stumbles, yeah, sure. Everyone stumbles. But this sound is the sound of someone who ain't getting back up again.

There's a muffled movement at the other end, as if the phone's been handed off to someone else.

"Faith?"

"Giles," Faith acknowledges.

There's a moment of embarrassed silence. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

The simple question is the thing that nearly tips her over the edge. With everything else going on in Giles's world, he bothered to ask about her. "Get to that in a sec. How are you doing?"

"Not too terribly well, I'm afraid," Giles allows. Faith can almost picture that famous British reserve pounding his personal feelings into the ground using a clenched fist. "Our operatives have already retrieved Xander's body. What they left behind is barely recognizable as human. They're bringing him home as we speak. The people who did this left it displayed in one of the villages with a high presence of foreign charity and U.N. workers."

"Sort of a 'this could happen to you if you mess with us,'" Faith fills in the blanks. "Tell me something: Did he succeed?"

"He succeeded in getting the prisoners to safety, yes." Faith can hear the pride lurking behind Giles's voice. "The girls, their families, and assorted people that were with them are here. The Council's filing for refugee status even as we speak."

"Tell me the truth, Jeeves. You'd sell 'em all down the river to get Xander and Willow back."

Their names, finally spoken out loud on a dirty corner in L.A., get a reaction from Wes. He steps back and blinks quickly as if he were fending off an attack from the tear ducts.

Giles lowers his voice and admits, "In a heartbeat."

"Fucking Andrew. I hope you slagged his pansy ass in one of your dungeons."

"Andrew's long gone. Disappeared right after your first call, in fact," Giles says. "Even so, we can't pin Xander's and Willow's deaths on him."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She can feel brightly burning anger at the little shit stain grow. "He's been lying all the way down the line and selling you guys out to god knows who—"

"Faith, Xander was killed by men. Evil men, perhaps, but men with no supernatural agenda. Just a greed for control, land, oil, and drugs. Willow was killed by her own hand. Although we can perhaps blame Andrew for what happened to her mind, I can only indirectly blame her death on him."

Giles sounds so reasonable that Faith wants to scream at him. He should be out for blood. He should want Andrew's head on a pike. He should…

Do what, exactly?

"We'll get Andrew. Don't you worry about that. There's so much damage he's done to all of us. Much as I would like to lay the bodies of Xander and Willow at his feet, they don't belong on his butcher's bill." Giles's voice is now hard with anger and Faith figures that Andrew better watch his back. She doesn't figure Giles will kill him. No. Watcher-man is gonna find something much worse to punish the little prick.

"Hit him one for me, Jeeves," Faith says, mostly because she doesn't know what else to say.

"Now, I'm almost certain you didn't call to get the latest news." Giles slips into business mode. "What can I do for you?"

"It's not for me," Faith replies. "It's for Angel." She crosses her fingers and hopes like hell that Giles is willing to help.

A long sigh winds through the receiver. "Yet another person Andrew injured during his time here."

"I guess B told ya the deal, hunh?" she chokes out.

"Did Angel tell you that he called me seeking help for one his compatriots? He asked for Willow and, well, I told him to get stuffed in the rudest manner possible."

Faith swallows and looks at Wes. "He mentioned something about that, yeah."

"The reason why I turned him down cold was because of Andrew. Let's just say that…ah…Andrew's field report may have been slightly harder on Angel's activities than they deserved."

"He was head of Wolfram & Hart at the time." She doesn't know why she's even trying to make Giles feel better about this decision, especially since Fred wound up dead in the deal. But, Jesus, if Andrew was messing with everyone then…well…Giles was probably making the right decision based on lies fed to him by someone he thought he could trust.

"Let's just say it was a much darker picture than simply being head of Wolfram & Hart."

"Maybe, maybe not," Faith equivocates. "Look, Angel's trying to take down the Senior Partners. That's pretty much his focus these days."

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

"Now, he's not asking for help. He needs information, as much as you got on these bastards."

"Talk about more than you can chew," Giles mutters.

"I dunno. He seems to think he's close."

"I'll set some trainees on it," Giles agrees. "Is there some place where I can send information?"

"Yeah. There's a drop box. And Giles? He can't know it's from you guys."

There's a pause. "He doesn't even know you're calling, does he?"

"He'd be furious if he did." Then again maybe not if the Council sends information that gets him even a fraction of a fraction of an inch closer to the Senior Partners. Hell, Angel would probably trade his soul for a single shot at them. "If you got a front or something…"

"Done and done," Giles agrees. There's another pause at the other end of the line. "Faith, not to sound like a selfish old man, but we truly need you."

Faith closes her eyes and bites her lip. Everyone seems to fucking need her these days. First Wes with his need to find Angel. Then Angel with his need to get even with the Senior Partners. B because she's overwhelmed by loss. Now Giles because he needs…what?

She doesn't even want to think about this right now. This phone call has overloaded all her circuits. She can't even begin to deal. "I can't. Angel kind of needs me more."

"I understand." And Faith can see he does. "Should you change your mind…and even if you don't…"

"I'll keep in touch." She's not sure if she means it, but Giles needs to hear it. No harm no foul saying it. She then gives Giles the drop box address, offers a final condolence, and hangs up with a soft goodbye.

"Xander and Willow?" Wes asks as Faith turns out of the phone kiosk and lands on her back against the brick wall.

"Dead." Suddenly the news crashes in on her and she slides down to the ground. "Dead, dead."

"I am sorry."

"Don't look at me. I barely knew them. They had their noses firmly up B's ass. Not exactly my friends that I lost, right?" She feels a stab in her gut. Why she doesn't quite know. Sure, she knew them, but she didn't **know** them. They were Buffy-appendages and nothing more. Except in the wake of their deaths they seem somehow more than that. She's not exactly sorry that she didn't get to know them better, but she's sorry they're dead.

"Hey, Wes? You figure there's a heaven?"

"There are heavenly dimensions, just like there are hell dimensions," Wes says carefully.

"Think they made it?"

Wes's eyebrows crawl up his forehead. "I suppose."

"Think you could find out?" She's not sure why this is important to her, but it is. "You know, maybe get on the ghost-to-ghost network and ask?"

"Faith," Wes's voice sounds so gentle that she knows he's about to let her down easy, "there's no way for me to find out unless I go there myself. And if I go, I won't be able to come back."

"Lemme guess: one way trip?"

He spreads his hands, palms upward, as if asking to her please understand. "It's more a matter of not wanting to come back."

Faith blinks uncomprehendingly at him.

"The pull, Faith." Wes clears his throat. "It's so strong. It's a promise. It's hope. It's rest and the knowledge that you won't have to wake up the next day and start fighting again. Xander and Willow have fought the darkness for years. Dying the way they did, fighting against the darkness, I could hardly blame them if they sunk into it with relief that only souls can feel."

"But you resisted."

"It wasn't easy," Wes allows, "I had to."

"Why?" she explodes. "Because you're so fucking selfless? But you figure Willow and Xander are just selfish enough that they'd hop-skip-and-jump into the big happy ever after? That it?"

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry," Faith gets to her feet. "I'm fucking sick and tired of you being the goddamn martyr around here. You had a tough fucking life. I get it. But guess what? Lots of people have tough fucking lives and they don't nail themselves to crosses because, boo-hoo, they're such big shits that the world can't possibly survive without them."

"I'm just answering your questions." Wes sounds hurt and confused.

"Yeah, St. Wesley of the Roses," Faith snaps. "How he suffers for our sins."

"Faith! It's not…you don't understand!" Wes yells.

"Paint me a picture, big man."

"It's just that there's nothing for me there. Very few friends. No family I'd care to claim. No Fred. Her soul was **gone**, Faith." The heartbreak in Wes's voice freezes her and all she can do is watch his face crumble into pain. "Illyria destroyed it. Used it as fuel for her resurrection. All that Fred was, all she ever would be, was obliterated. That left only my obligations here. I resisted because this tether is stronger than that pull."

Faith studies him a moment before asking, "Do you still feel it? That pull?"

He closes his eyes and admits. "It's always there in the back of my soul. It's faded slightly, but I still feel it."

"So you stick around because you figure Angel needs you," Faith says slowly. "What happens if you forget the pull? Are you stuck here no matter what?"

Wes merely gives her an unreadable look and Faith knows that the thought has crossed his mind and it worries him.

"Well, aren't we a pair?" she finally asks. "Look at us. Fucking sad sacks the two of us. We're sticking with Angel because we wanna help him do whatever and he can't even fucking see either one of us when we stand right under his goddamned nose."

* * *

Things that aren't said define the next month.

Faith has never told him about chatting up B. After the first failed conversation, she decided it wasn't important. After the second failed conversation, she decided it was very important, but she didn't know how to tell him.

She doesn't volunteer an explanation when he retrieves the first unexpected package from the drop box. She notices Giles didn't exactly strain his brain to come up with something fancy for his fake company: 'Information Search Services Ltd.' Jesus, the stench of tweed is so strong with that bland name that it's a wonder Angel can't smell it. She doesn't tell him that the sheaves of paper that spill out of the envelopes that show up once a week are a down payment on the debt of Giles's guilt. She doesn't tell him that Buffy may be broken. She doesn't tell him that B's lost almost as brutally has he has.

She should, but the words remain stuck in her throat. She's afraid he'd be furious if he knew she'd been trying to get him 'help' behind his back when he fully believes that there's nothing wrong with dedicating his life to hunting down the Senior Partners. But she's even more afraid that he won't care, that he'll be so focused on the fact that new information is flowing in from a reasonably reliable source that the raft of bad news trapped in her chest will fall on deaf ears.

She desperately needs to think. Thinking has never been her thing. She's an expert at going with the gut, rolling with the punches, keeping her head just above shit-stained water. Doing some serious thinking is something completely new.

She's stepped back from the research time. Not completely. Just a little. She tries to split the nights. Some nights she gets her Slay on; some nights she's cracking the books. The difference is she's aware of these tugs all telling her to do contradictory things. When her headaches start in the early morning hours, she wants to run into the fresh air and work off some frustrated energy. When she's dusting up the town, she wants to run back to Angel's side and bury herself in his mission.

She doesn't know what she fucking wants.

She doesn't know who she should blame for this. She wants to blame needy B with her never-ending trauma and her uncanny ability to yank people around her into shitstorms. Heh. Uncanny. As in _Uncanny X-Men_. Yeah. B's got her own little mutant power right there.

Maybe she should point the accusing finger at Giles's voice reaching through the phone, asking how she is, telling her she's needed and wanted, and promising to help her even if it means helping Angel.

Hell, why not just go right at Willow and Xander. They're dead. They probably don't give a shit if they get blamed. But them dying, especially the way they did, sits uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. It's stupid. It's not like she could've done jack about it if she stuck it out and stuck around the little Scoobies. Watching their backs was B's job, not hers.

Or maybe it's Angel with his never-ending desperate need for her to be here, to help, to hold, to cherish, and maybe in some small way to love. He needs **her**, damn it. He's the only guy, living or undead, who's ever told her that he needs her and just her because she is who she is.

Maybe she could just blame Wes for dragging her into this mess in the first place with his constant wheedling and needling.

Part of the problem with this whole thinking thing, Faith decides, is sooner or later she's going to have to take a good long look in the mirror and put the blame on stupid herself.

Then there's the other thing that's not said. It's there in Angel's eyes every time she blows off research to go hunting and every time she insists that she needs to get the full eight hours of snooze time. It's an awful unspoken question she can't answer: _I'm losing you, aren't I?_

She recognizes that look. She missed it the first time around with Robin because she couldn't comprehend someone looking at her like that. Funny, now that she thinks about it. Robin knew before she did that she was shit-scared and ready to run when everyone started making plans for the future. Everyone was talking, everyone was choosing, everyone but her. While people talked around her, they never noticed that she never mentioned a future.

She wonders if Robin missed her when she left. She wonders how long he missed her, assuming he missed her at all.

One thing she does know: he wasn't at all surprised. Probably none of them—not Buffy, not her little buddies, not the new Slayers, not even Giles—were exactly shocked when they woke up one day and she was gone.

But she ain't leaving Angel. She wishes she could answer that unasked question. She wishes she could volunteer why she's taking two steps back. All she can do is try to reassure him through a million touches and a hundred kisses that two steps is a far cry from halfway around the world.

But they don't talk about it. She knows he can't bear to ask the question out loud.

And she can't bring herself to tell him the truth.

TBC..


	3. Chapter 3

"Five days

"Five days."

"Not now, Wes."

"You've been on book retrieval missions five days in a row." Wes tsks his point. "I thought—"

"Yeah, yeah." She hates that Wes is right. She's slowly getting yanked right back in bit-by-bit. First it was three days. Then it crept up to four. She knows Angel's gong for six days this week.

"Don't 'yeah, yeah,'" Wes snips.

"Look, at least I'm still getting out for the Slay, right? Not like he's bogarting my whole night." Jesus that statement sounds like weak shit, even to her.

"And by the time you deliver the book, turn around, and head back out, more than half the dark is gone," Wes argues as he keeps pace.

"I thought the goal was to get Angel out here with me, not keep me out here," Faith remarks as she stops short of the alley entrance.

"And if you don't stay out here, Angel will never get out here," Wes points out as he watches her carefully scan the streetscape. He sighs and adds, "What are you looking for?"

Faith merely grunts a response. She hates admitting it, even to herself, but her little Wolfram & Hart run-in makes her dead nervous. Granted, she's only been fucking around with small shit: vampires and demons out for a little fun and food, but experience has taught her that you never know. She could off a right-hand guy to a big fish without even knowing it. If that happens, the wrath of the fine State of California will pile on her ass.

No one's paying attention to her. She slips out of the shadows and takes her place on the sidewalk. A small adjustment in her body language and she's tromping down the cement like she owns it.

"Someone needs to be out here," Wes continues.

Faith resists the urge to reply because the last thing she needs is someone giving her the hairy eyeball for talking to herself.

Wes apparently knows this too, because he's taking full advantage of the situation. "It's bad enough that you're out here alone. It's even worse that you're out here only part time." He sweeps a hand across the streetscape. "Someone has to protect these people from the dark. More than one someone, actually. They're getting, at best, a half-a-person."

"Gee, thanks," Faith mutters.

"I dare you to say it isn't true," Wes argues. "The reason why I want Angel out here isn't just for him, but for these people as well. Surely you can't disagree with that."

"You're doing it more for Angel," she whispers. Just in case anyone's watching her, she makes it look like she's trying to remember something.

Wes doesn't even bother to argue the point, opting instead to give her an irritated sigh.

"Short-cutting through there," Faith continues her whisper as she jerks her head to another alley across the street.

Wes blips away and Faith lets out a breath. This is the same conversation she's been having with Wes all week. The really shitty thing about it is that she agrees with him, even if she can't quite admit it. Someone needs to be out here full-time and she's not out here nearly enough. She makes a little dent here and there, but she feels helpless. She's one person and, as Wes was kind enough to point out, not even a fully committed person at that.

The hell of it is if she takes to the streets full-time she'll have to walk away from Angel and she's not prepared to do that. Furthermore, she suspects that even if she takes to these particular streets in this particular city, she won't be able to cut the cord as neatly as she needs to because she'd feel obligated to help Angel.

So she's stuck. She can't leave. She can't stay. She suspects that she's making this harder on herself than she should, but she's been so twisted up since Wes invaded her life that it's a wonder she remembers her own goddamn name sometimes.

"Faith!"

The Slayer frowns at herself for getting distracted and focuses across the street at Wes. He's jumping up and down in front of the alley entrance and waving his arms at her in a desperate bid for attention.

"There's a feeding back here!" Wes is hollering at the top of his lungs. "Hurry! I don't think he's got much time!"

Faith launches across the street, weaving around the moving cars and ignoring the squeal of locked breaks. _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit_…

"There's three," Wes says the second her foot hits the sidewalk. "They're distracted—"

"Right." Faith shoots into the alley, drops her book bag as she goes, and slides the stake tucked up her jacket sleeve into her hand. She dusts the first two with successive quick jabs in the back before they know what's hit them. The third one — a youngish woman, or she would be if she were still alive — jumps back with a hiss and bared fangs.

The guy lying in a pool of his own blood stares glassy-eyed at the sliver of sky between buildings. The sluggish ooze from his neck tells Faith that he's still alive. The shallow breathing tells her that he won't be for long if she doesn't end this now.

"Let me guess," she says as she charges the vampire ho, "Your two buddies were male. So I'm guessing a little play-acting, right? Make like some helpless chick falling victim to two big bruisers wanting a piece of ass."

She slices with her stake and only manages a cut across the vampire's upper arm. When she was alive this woman was probably into self-defense because she-thing doesn't miss a trick. She recovers and kicks out a roundhouse that Faith barely avoids.

"So, along comes stupidhead and makes like a fucking hero and gets a nasty-ass surprise." Faith manages to box the vampire up, "How am I doing? Am I even close?" Faith's fucking furious and she's not sure why. She's seen this particular scam a couple of times since she became a Slayer back in Boston, so it's not like she's come across a horrible new idea in how vampires hunt humans.

Vampire ho rushes her with a flurry of striking moves. "You're not the Slayer I want," yellow-eyes lisps through her fangs.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Faith demands as she ducks and strikes out with kick.

"Faith! Be careful! She's—"

Next thing Faith knows she's grabbed by her throat and shoulder before being flipped. She lands on her back with a painful exhalation of breath and is momentarily stunned by the force of impact. She registers the sound of running footsteps as her quarry takes off.

"Are you all right?" Wes's worried face swims into her vision.

"Stunned but okay," Faith breathlessly answers. "Lemme guess—"

"Our friend ran," Wes finishes.

"No friend of mine, that's for sure," Faith disagrees as she gets to her feet. She quickly moves to the victim's side to check him, but she knows even before she drops to her knees on the ground next to the hero-wanna-be that she's way too late.

He's dressed nice. He looks like a fucking Dudley Do Right complete with the square jaw and broad shoulders. Before the trio got their hands on him, he was probably clean and neat. Hard to tell what color his hair is, hard to tell what color his clothes are. There's so much blood. These guys weren't what she'd call neat eaters.

_What they left behind is barely recognizable as human._

Who the fuck said that? Giles. About Xander. Maybe about Willow. She's not hundred percent sure on any of that.

"Faith, we have to go," Wes says. "Sirens."

_There should be rain_, she thinks as she pulls the body into her lap. Someone's going to miss this guy. And if someone doesn't? Well, then there's no fucking justice.

"Faith." Wes's voice climbs the scale in desperation.

"Too late," Faith replies. "Too fucking late."

"We can talk about this later," Wes insists. "We have to go! The hell?"

"Miss?"

The new voice snaps Faith out of the mental loop and she looks up into the eyes of a petite, blonde-haired woman.

She clears her throat. "I think we need to talk, young lady. But not here. If the police come in and see you covered with blood—"

"British," Wes needlessly points out.

"Watcher?" Faith asks.

The woman obviously thinks that Faith is asking her. "Why, yes." The woman sounds surprised. "Madeline Gossworth."

"Faith."

Madeline's eyes widen. "Faith? Mr. Giles's Faith?"

Faith doesn't even know how to begin translating that question.

"If you are, we **must** get out of here," the woman insists. "The police are coming."

"But—" Faith begins.

"The young man is gone. There's nothing more you can do."

"My book bag."

"I have it," the woman says as she holds out a free hand. "Please."

After a beat, Faith gasps the woman's clean white hand with her own bloodstained one.

* * *

Faith feels dirty.

She's standing in Madeline's neat-as-a-neater-than-neat-thing kitchen while the woman honest-to-god bustles around. She's got water on the stove for instant coffee; she's already got the cups, saucers, sugar, and cream on the table; and she's filling the sink with warm water so Faith can get the grime and blood off her skin.

Then there's the Slayer, May. She looks as Mexican as Mexican can be, which shouldn't be a surprise because this **is** California and not Massachusetts. The surprise — at least to the part of Faith's prison-trained mind that learned to crudely toss people into certain categories based on skin color — is this chick's English doesn't have a hint of an accent, Spanish or otherwise.

But it isn't the neat kitchen, or Madeline's insistence on cleaning her up, or the fact that there's a part of her that pegs someone as a 'spic' before they open their mouth that makes her feel dirty. It's that look in Madeline's and May's eyes. They look at her as if she's some fucking hero and not like the Slayer who fucks up everything she touches.

She's got to get her ass out of here.

Wes is making 'oooooo' sounds as his eyes roam over the piles of books all over the apartment and the full-to-bursting bookshelves. It's like Wes has achieved nirvana without managing to make it to those heavenly dimensions. She knows that if Wes could choose, he'd choose to hang here for as long as he could.

"—so, that's who you're up against," May breathlessly finishes her report. "We've been picking them off one-by-one, but they keep making more."

"And this despite help," Madeline agrees as she hands Faith a washcloth. "I do apologize, but I don't have any clothes in your size, otherwise—"

"S'okay," Faith mumbles, "Got a change of clothes back where I'm staying." She scrubs uselessly at the dried blood on the front of her shirt, but all she manages to do is make it wet.

"Here," Madeline says as she takes the washcloth out of her hands. She looks at Faith with something resembling sympathy as she begins gently cleaning the Slayer's dirty skin. Her voice drops low, "Please, don't beat yourself up. You did everything you could."

"Hear, hear," Wes agrees from his station on the other side of the apartment. Faith's head snaps around to see her personal ghost giving her a sad smile. He adds, "You can't be everywhere. There's no way to know if we would've been on time even if we weren't ferrying books to Angel."

"Is something wrong?" Madeline asks.

Faith latches on to something Madeline said earlier since she sure as hell doesn't want to admit that she talks to a dead person. "You mentioned 'despite help.' I was going to ask May 'bout that."

"It's this gang who hangs out down by the waterfront," May says.

"Gang?" Faith questions as she looks at Madeline. "You sure you want to get mixed up with the Crips and the Bloods? That don't sound none too safe to me."

Madeline warmly chuckles at that. "Hardly the same thing," the Watcher says. The way she uses the washcloth to remove the blood from Faith's hands and face is soothing. "To my eternal shame, I thought these ladies and gentlemen fell into that ilk. They are a gang, but they are rather committed to keeping the streets free of vampires."

"Gunn's old gang," Wes breathes as he moves away from the books. "Must be."

For Wes's sake, Faith throws out the question. "I mighta known someone who used to run with them. Ever hear of a dude called Gunn?"

Madeline's eyebrows crease. "Nooooo, I don't believe—"

"I have," May interrupts. "One of the guys mentioned him to me. Last they heard he was getting into some fight with Wolfram & Heart. That was almost a year ago, though. They haven't heard anything since."

Faith's throat tightens. _They don't know_. Well, they damn well are going to. "He's dead."

May draws a sharp breath.

"Went down fighting from what I hear," Faith quickly adds with a glance at Wes. "Took out a room fulla vamps who was working for this skank politician. Nearly buys it then. But he marches into battle, axe in hand, barely keeping his feet, and starts taking out some really nasty-ass demons. He spit in the bastards' eyes right to the end. You be sure to tell his crew that next time you see 'em."

May wordlessly nods and Faith knows that the message is as good as delivered.

"I couldn't agree with that eulogy more," Wes says. "He made mistakes, but in the end he always tried to put it right, even if some part of me can't quite forgive him for what happened to Fred."

_That's Wes: champion grudge-holder. Guy's fucking dead. Doesn't matter no more what Wes thinks. Gunn's probably somewhere where he don't give a sweet shit._ At least she hopes that's the case.

"Well, I wish I could say he didn't die in vain," Madeline says gently. She winces just as Wes reacts like he's been slapped. "I am sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Didn't know him that well," Faith quickly says. Christ. She really didn't know anyone that fucking well it seems. She's getting sick and tired of saying that line like it's the story of her life.

"May, please pour the water for the coffee," Madeline says.

As May leaps to do it, Faith asks, "So what's the deal? She live here?"

"Yes."

The clipped answer is enough to tell Faith that there's a long and painful story behind the deal, so she doesn't press. Madeline's attempt at cleaning her up has helped her gain a little equilibrium, but she's just not ready to face the outside world yet. Might as well try to get some missing pieces for her own story.

"You called me Giles's Faith," she prompts. "How—"

Madeline interrupts her by firmly guiding her to a kitchen chair. "We came to L.A. last month to bolster reinforcements. Mr. Giles mentioned that you were operating here and that we should keep our eyes peeled for you."

"Reinforcements?" Faith asks.

Madeline drops heavily into a kitchen chair. "There are other Slayer-Watcher teams operating in L.A. because — well, I'm certain you've been on the streets. Things are boiling at barely controlled chaos right now and it's too much for one Slayer to handle. All of us are working with the gang down on the waterfront, something that's unprecedented in Council history."

She spares a glance at Wes. He looks paler than normal, and that's even considering he's already dead. "Dear god," Wes prays

"I knew things were bad, but—" Faith begins.

"Imagine your worse-case scenario, and then double it." Madeline's voice reveals bone-deep exhaustion, like she's been fighting since she landed in L.A.

"What's going on?" Faith asks.

Madeline takes a breath and says, "Between your people in Sunnydale two years ago and the business with Wolfram & Hart last year, there's been quite the one-two punch on the balance of power in this dimension."

"I don't follow," Faith says.

"'Cause of the First Evil going down and all the new Slayers being called," May responds as she pours the hissing water into Faith's cup. "Then because the Circle of the Black Thorn got wiped out."

Faith peers suspiciously at the sludge-like consistency of her coffee and opts to dump as much cream and sugar as she can into her cup. "Still missing something there."

Madeline sighs and curls her hands around her own cup. "The Hellmouth in Sunnydale was the largest and most powerful in this dimension, so much so that it tended to drain energy from the other Hellmouths elsewhere. That's not to say they weren't active, but they weren't powerfully so."

Faith catches on. "We shut it down and all that power's got to go somewhere."

"Precisely," Madeline gives her a tired smile. "To be brutally honest, there are several major Hellmouths now kicking up quite the fuss."

Jesus. No wonder why Buffy crumpled. If she knew—

"Please don't," Madeline reaches out and gasps Faith's hand. "I can see from the look on your face what you're thinking. It **had** to be closed; no one disagrees with that. According to the few records that have survived from prior to the First's activities, the Sunnydale Hellmouth was about to blow wide open and that would've resulted in widespread devastation."

"Like a volcano," Faith mutters.

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Wes agrees.

"So, lemme guess: activating all the Potentials crossed with Sunnydale going down and that means war," Faith remarks. She checks with Wes, who gives her a nod to indicate that he's thinking the same thing.

"Actually, things didn't get bad until Wolfram & Hart," Madeline says. "Oh, we were dealing with the blowback, but we did manage to keep on top of things. When Angel and his people took out the Circle of the Black Thorn," the Watcher shrugs, "it left a power vacuum. What you're seeing—"

"—is a turf war," Faith finishes for her. "So if we had one without the other—"

"If we didn't have the number of Slayers we have now, the human race would be much, much worse off," Madeline harshly interrupts. "Frankly, I get down on my knees every night thanking every god in every known universe that you folks did what you did."

"I'm rather surprised the Senior Partners aren't yanking on the choke chain," Wes says.

"Yeah!" Faith winces and quickly adds, "Where's the Senior Partners in all this?"

"They've lost control of the situation," Madeline answers. "At least, that's what we believe. In many ways, the Senior Partners kept things in check. Evil couldn't be too evil, otherwise nothing would get accomplished. Ergo, we theorize, many of the major demonic factions agreed to work through Wolfram & Hart rather than battling out in the open. In exchange, Wolfram & Hart promised to eventually deliver this world back to them with interest."

"What do you want to bet that was never going to happen," Faith leans back. "They're in the sweet spot. Once they deliver the goods, they're not the ones with the big dicks anymore."

May giggles and blushes at that.

Madeline gives her Slayer an affectionate, exasperated look. "Perhaps. We honestly don't know what the long-term intention was. All we can tell you is that without the Black Thorn, the Senior Partners have lost credibility. They're not able to keep order and right now they don't have the wherewithal to enforce anything."

Faith whistles.

"The Senior Partners are actually vulnerable?" Wes sounds amazed. "That lawyer in the alley. It was for show, a form of whistling in the dark. Good lord, if Angel manages to get to them while they're still in this state—"

Funny. That's not how she sees it. What she sees is that a whole lot of people are getting crushed underfoot while the giants battle it out. If she's hearing right, ain't no way people can just flee town because this shit's happening everywhere. They can't run because there's nowhere for them to run to.

"Giles didn't tell me any of this," Faith says.

"That's because we didn't know until we started looking into the Senior Partners for you," Madeline explains. "Things started falling into place only recently."

"You guys got a plan?" Faith asks.

"There's a plan? No one mentioned a plan," May jokes.

"I fear May is correct. We're not precisely sure what we can do besides hang on," Madeline says. "L.A. and other cities that host Wolfram & Hart branches are hot spots, as are areas with Hellmouths. Between the growing crisis, the desperate need to find all the Slayers we can, training new Watchers, and trying to find out the intentions of a rival group recruiting Slayers and killing those who don't join them, we're stretched rather thin."

Faith sags into her chair. This is fucking humungous. There's massive, massive problems on an epic scale going on all around her and she's got her head so far up her fucking ass that she completely missed it. "That's why you've been looking for me," Faith says dully. "To tell me this."

"And to give you information that's too delicate to send to the drop box," Madeline nods at May, who excuses herself. "Mr. Giles believes that we should perhaps aid Angel as much as we can. If we remove Wolfram & Hart from the equation, the raging battle in their territories might cool off."

"Or it might get worse," Wes says.

"Or you might have more people gunning for top dog," Faith relays.

"Perhaps. But until we get more information that states otherwise — ahhh, May. Please give Faith the book."

May places a ledger-sized tome on the table next to Faith. It looks like the bazillion other books Angel's collected: old, musty, hard-to-read, and ultimately a dead end.

"So what you're saying is that, for now, you're going to feed the beast for Angel even though you don't know if it'll help," Faith says. "Sounds to me like you could use an ass kicker even more."

"Actually, I'd say they need a strategy more than anything else," Wes argues. "Sounds like they're so busy putting out raging forest fires that no one's sat down and tried to put the pieces together."

A shadow crosses Madeline's face as she leans back. "As someone in the trenches, I would much rather see more people taking up the good fight. Purely for selfish reasons, you understand."

"'Cause more bad asses on your side means less work for everyone," Faith agrees.

"Means less death for everyone," Madeline swipes a tired hand through her hair. "We've suffered some terrible losses in recent months."

And damn it, her throat's tightening again. "So I heard."

"You only heard the beginning," Madeline says quietly. She shakes herself. "Regardless of what I believe, Mr. Giles is pushing ahead with, as you put it, 'feeding the beast.' Thanks to his decision to aid Angel in his quest, we are beginning to see a picture emerge. He believes it to be a worthy line of enquiry. It has yielded some promising information."

Faith closes her eyes and wishes she didn't hear this. "So, what now?"

"Mr. Giles has asked all of us in L.A. to relay a message to you should we find you," Madeline says. "He'll continue to use the drop box, but he's rather hoping that he'll be able to send misinformation through it, just in case someone is onto our investigations."

"That is very clever," Wes nods.

"As for the real information, he'd prefer that you use one of us as a point of contact," Madeline continues. "Once you give the green light on the plan, we'll work out the details."

"I'll check with Angel on that and get back to you," Faith promises. She looks down at her bloodstained clothes and adds almost to herself, "Wish I could tell you that it'll make a damn bit of difference."

"We won't know until we try," Madeline says.

"And if it turns out that Angel's being an idiot and his mission will make things worse?" Faith asks.

"We'll get to that when we come to it." The tone in Madeline's voice tells Faith that the Watcher doesn't like the uncertainty of this deal.

"The Council is sticking its neck very far out," Wes remarks. "They're accommodating Angel by sharing information, but if the wrong people find out, it could be dangerous for everyone. Rupert is taking quite a gamble."

_Rupert is drowning in fucking guilt and it's knocked his judgment out of whack, you idiot,_ Faith furiously thinks.

May yawns.

Madeline grins. "Too right. It is quite late. Perhaps you should be going."

Faith shoots a hand out and grabs Madeline by the wrist. "You mentioned more losses. Fill me in. Who else has…" she can't quite say died.

"I'm certain you're tired and this can wait," Madeline says.

"No, it can't. I need to know," Faith insists.

"I suspect you're going to be sorry you asked," Wes says.

Madeline takes a breath before breaking the news. "Mr. Giles, Buffy, and yourself are the only ones left alive from the Sunnydale inner circle."

Faith goes numb. "Robin? Dawn? Kennedy? What about—"

"All gone," Madeline says.

"What about Andrew?" Faith asks.

Madeline closes her eyes and replies, "We don't know where he is."

Faith can feel the pulse in her neck as her hands clench. "Tell me. Start from the beginning. Don't even fucking think skipping anything. I want to hear it all of it."

* * *

Faith arrives back at her bolthole just as the sun hits noon fueled by a fury unlike any she's ever felt. She storms through the Office Jungle and bursts into the Big Kahuna suite to see Angel sitting behind that dick desk in the fat cat ass chair.

At her entrance he looks up. "Faith! I've been worried—"

Faith grabs the edge of the dick desk and yanks. It skitters across the carpet but sadly doesn't crash into anything. "They're dead. They're all dead. They're all fucking dead. And you fucking sit there—"

"Dead? Who's dead?" Angel leaps to his feet. "Faith, I don't—"

"Some guy in an alley. Robin. Xander. Willow. Fucking little **Dawn** wasn't even safe."

Angel sinks into the chair as the news sinks through to his brain. "What—"

"It's falling to shit, Angel!" Faith screams at him. "It's falling to shit around our goddamn ears!" She marches over to a window and yanks down the fire blanket, letting the sun flood the office. She hears Angel hiss behind her as he retreats to a shadowed part of the room. She doesn't bother to turn around. "Take a good, long, fucking look. Open your goddamn eyes. Look up from one of your precious books and take a look!"

"You're covered in blood. You stink of blood. What happened?" Angel asks.

"Faith, please try to calm down," Wes urges.

"What happened? What **happened**?" Faith begins to laugh crazily. The world is spinning off its axis and tumbling down. The demons of the world are fighting, but sooner or later someone not Wolfram & Hart is going to unite them and then what? Where does that leave everyone?

"Faith?" Angel tries to reach out, but the light is too strong and he's forced to retreat. "Please, talk to me."

Faith finally turns to face him, feeling the warmth of the sun beat down on her neck. "I've been getting in touch with the Council. Those little surprise packages you're getting? From Giles."

Angel's nostrils flare in anger. "He's a little late with the help."

Faith takes a step away from the window, but keeps in the sunlight. The Slayer part of her brain notes that Angel is well and truly cornered. He's stuck. He's going to have to listen to her.

"Giles was lied to. Buffy was lied to. All right down the line. They had no fucking idea what was going on here, because if they did? You would've gotten all the help you needed. And get this: **you** were lied to. Buffy didn't even fucking know you and Spike were in Rome. She didn't even know Spike was **alive**."

"But Andrew—" Angel begins.

"Andrew sold them out to the highest bidder. 'Course they don't know who because he's disappeared. But right around the time Buffy gets wise, people start dying. First it was Xander. Then Willow. Followed by Dawn. More right after that, like fucking dominoes."

Angel's face darkens dangerously. "Sounds like the Senior Partners are—"

"It's not the Senior Partners!" Faith shouts. "Your little scam last year is part of the fucking problem! They kept a lid on things and now **no one** is keeping a lid on things. You're wrong, dead wrong."

"Faith," Wes warns.

"That's what Giles told you?" Angel asks.

Faith yanks Madeline's book out of her backpack and throws it with all her might at Angel. He ducks just as the book crashes into the wall where his head was.

"Because I asked him to, Giles is running down this road. He's doing it for fucking **you**, Angel. That book? Right out of the Council library. Down payment on their little information feed to you. They've dug up a lot shit and I gotta admit, their evidence looks a whole lot more solid than yours does."

"Giles is still being lied to," Angel insists. Faith's impressed that he doesn't move to pick up the book, even though he could get it without getting singed. "Trust me, I know. The Senior Partners are very good at deception."

"The **Senior Partners** didn't kill the guy who died tonight!" Faith screams. "Know what killed him? Vampires. Fucking vampires. There's a little clan taking advantage of the fun and games and offing the populace, get me? While the Council is running around trying to keep its shit together, while you're keeping your eyes on the fucking prize, people are dying in some pretty fucking awful ways. Who's helping them, hunh? Who's out there saving their asses?"

"You are," Angel says quietly.

"It's about damn time," Wes cheers.

"No, I'm not," Faith spits. "I'm your fucking go-to girl. I'm running your goddamn errands and protecting you from the vicious truth while you sit there and fight for ghosts who don't give a shit." She flings an arm out the window. "You're fucking needed out there. There are other Slayers fighting and dying while you sit there and—"

"Try to stop the evil that will consume them all," Angel quietly says.

"Keep pushing, Faith," Wes urges. "Don't give up."

Wes doesn't see it, not like she can. Angel's not giving up. He's never going to give up. She knows Angel better than anyone she's ever known in her life. She's walked through his brain. She's picked at his memories. She's stared his demon in the eye and she's made love to his human. She can show him oceans of proof, she can rub his nose into the blood on her shirt, she can force him to talk to poor broken Buffy and it wouldn't change a damn thing. There is nothing she can say that'll force him into the night because he believes that this is the only way to win.

Angel obviously mistakes her silence for wavering. "Don't you see? In this dimension, the Senior Partners are the ultimate evil. They're the ultimate source of power. Lindsey told me that this is how it begins: the world slowly falls apart. By the time the cracks show, it's already too late. That's what you're seeing, Faith. We've let the world slowly fall to pieces and this," he waves his hand around the room, "is when it starts to catch up with all of us."

Faith steps back until she can feel the heated glass against her back. It's such a seductive scenario: blame something bigger than either one of them for all the shit raining down on planet earth. Maybe there's a sinister master plan at work, maybe there isn't. All she knows is that a lot of good people are dying in the dark and that she has to do something.

"Faith," Wes hisses.

Angel steps dangerously close to the light, as far as he dares. "Lindsey also told me this: Heroes don't accept the world as it is. Heroes fight to change it. If we step out there and get lost in the everyday battles, all we're doing accepting that world. We're not fighting it. Nothing will change unless we take out the people who started us all down this path."

"I can't hold my nose and step over the bodies, Angel," Faith finally says. "I can't do it any more. I can't get the fucking smell of blood out of my clothes. You doing what you're doing — it's not going to bring any of them back. But maybe we could save—"

"No," Angel digs in. "Saving one or two people isn't enough. We have to save the world."

"You lost him," Wes says quietly. "Dear god, you've lost him."

Faith wants to scream bullshit on Angel. This is about vengeance. He told her that right from the beginning. Somehow he's managed to spin himself a story on why he sits on his ass while she goes out to fight, not because he doesn't care, but because he cares too fucking much. She can see the pain still lurking behind his eyes.

"There's too many people between us," she finally says, "too many ghosts. Wes, Cordelia, Fred, Gunn, Spike, that guy Doyle you told me about. Hell, maybe Lindsey, too. It never was just the two of us, was it? They're always there in the room with us." She draws herself to her full height. "I can do the fucking math, Angel. I may not be too smart, but I know how to fucking add. What we got here is crowd and as far as you're concerned, they're all on your fucking side."

Faith turns to leave.

"Where are you going?" Angel calls after her.

"I need to take a walk," she shoots over her shoulder.

She escapes through the Office Jungle and out the door. When she makes it to the first floor, she's not at all surprised to see Wes waiting for her.

"Running again?" he nastily asks.

"No," Faith says firmly. "I'll be back, but I need to be alone right now."

"Lovely performance. Very charming." Wes isn't letting this go. "What was that supposed to accomplish?"

Faith looks at him a beat. "Stay with him, Wes. The last thing I need right now is your prick act."

* * *

Faith crawls out of bed and plants a kiss on Angel's forehead. He opens his eyes in response and gives her a smile.

"I gotta go," she says gently.

"I know." He reaches out and holds her hand. "Faith, for everything — thank you."

"Hey, hey," she soothes. "This ain't goodbye you know. When you find those bastards get a message to Giles. He'll be able to reach me."

"This isn't your fight."

"But it is yours," Faith says. "Don't start the party without me, hear?"

"I won't."

She gets dressed and checks her duffle to make sure everything is packed while he watches her from the bed. A final swing around the abandoned offices tells her that there's nothing she wants to take with her.

Well maybe one thing, but Angel made it clear that he's not leaving.

She turns around and sees him standing the doorway of the Big Kahuna office. She blows him a kiss that he snatches out of the air and brings it down to where a beating heart would be if he had one.

She turns on her heel and leaves, knowing that if she dawdles much longer she'll stay. When she hits the sun-drenched sidewalk outside Wes is waiting for her, his face pinched with disapproval.

"So this is it then. You're abandoning both of us."

"I made you the same offer I made him. You can come with if you want."

"I asked you to do this," Wes says tightly. "One thing. One very small thing."

"That's not a small thing in there. Wes, he's never gonna stop. There's nothing me, you, or hell, even Buffy can do about it. He's gonna keep going and going long after I'm feeding the worms. You know it. I know it."

Faith feels calm. In her heart she knows she's doing the right thing. There's a difference between satisfaction and Want. Take. Have. She understands that now. Running after something that will never let you catch it is not the road to satisfaction, let alone the road to a better tomorrow. It's a one-way ticket to insanity and it's not a road she's interested in walking again.

Wes tries again. "He needs—"

She drops her duffle, gets in his face, and growls. "Fuck, Wes. I heard you the first billion times you said it. You're right. I know you're right. But Wes? That crazy shit is catchy. He pulled me in for Chrissakes. Me. You saw it. You fucking yelled at me about it. If I stick around, he'll suck me right back in or get me killed while trying." She shakes her head. "I just can't do it any more. I just can't."

"It's been only six months," Wes pleads. "Give it time."

"How much more time? Hunh? How much time do you think needs to pass before he gets with the acceptance?" Faith asks. "It's been a fucking year, Wes. One year. He's stuck to his plan through all that time. In six months, I've been all over the goddamn map with this Senior Partners bullshit. I can't fix this. I don't know **anyone** who can fix this."

Wes's shoulders deflate.

"I've tried everything," Faith presses her point. "I tried tempting him into fighting. I've tried Buffy. I tried fucking him. I tried appealing to his pity. Hell, I even signed on to his mission. Nothing worked. If there's something I haven't tried, please tell me. I'm all fucking ears. Because if there's something I haven't tried, I'd sure like to hear it."

"Perhaps if Connor were in danger—" Wes begins.

"No. No, forget it, Wes." Faith throws up her hands to ward off the idea. "This whole fucking mess started **because** of Connor and you know it. We throw Connor into this situation and fuck knows what's gonna happen."

Faith can see Wes finally give up. "So you really are leaving?"

"Gotta. For my own mental health," Faith replies. "'Sides, I don't think me staying is going to help in the long run. As long as I'm here, he can avoid reality. Now if he wants information, he's going to have start knocking on Madeline's door. Sooner or later he's going to have to start pulling his head out of his ass, if only because he's going to want to keep his connection to the Council safe."

"You're rationalizing," Wes accuses.

"Probably," Faith shrugs. "But even you gotta admit that he's better off now than when I first found him." She takes a deep breath and focuses on Wes. "He's probably the only person living or dead who can say that."

Wes looks down and quietly counters, "Don't blame yourself for more than your share. I'm fairly certain some people simply made bad decisions that had nothing to do with you, even if they sometimes found you an easy to person to blame for that."

"Thanks, Wes," Faith quietly says.

Wes slaps his hands together and forces a smile on his face. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Like I told Angel, I've talked it out with Giles and I negotiated myself an expense account plus salary. Plus, the Council is gonna start exerting a little influence to erase my record so I can travel more freely, but their influence? Not what it once was. That shit's gonna take time."

"So, back on the streets then to live the Slayer's life?" Wes asks.

Faith gives him a grin. "Last I checked that's what you wanted Angel to do. You figured saving damsels in distress would make him get back in touch with his inner human."

"Touché," Wes allows.

"Only sort of for me," Faith continues. "Giles asked me to start sniffing out activated Slayers in the good ol' U.S. of A. Maybe give 'em a seminar, get 'em to sign on the dotted line, and then send up a flare so the Council can send a Watcher to work one-on-one."

"Congratulations." Wes sounds almost sincere.

"Look, I could use a little mentoring since making small talk ain't exactly one of my strengths," Faith holds out a trembling olive branch and hopes he'll take it, "so come with. You'll at least have someone to talk to and who can actually see you."

Wes studies her for a moment and Faith thinks he just might take the offer. She's disappointed when he dredges up an answer.

"I can't Faith. I just can't," Wes's eyes track to the covered windows in the building, "he **needs** me."

"He can't even see you Wes, so how do you figure that?"

Wes's face is full of soft sadness. "Because I'm Starbuck to his Ahab. Where he goes, I must follow, even it is into the maw of the white whale itself."

Faith's not exactly sure what Wes is on about, but she can break it down to the basics: he'll follow Angel straight into hell if that's where Angel's going. Doesn't matter what happened in the past. Doesn't matter what's going to happen in the future. Doesn't matter that, as far as Angel is concerned, Wes exists in the present only as another item on the list of things he's lost.

Wes is staying because he's doing it for Angel. It has always been and always will be about Angel and there's nothing she can do about that.

Wes reaches out a finger and touches a spot in the middle of her forehead. She can almost imagine that there's physical contact there, even though the only thing she can feel is the warmth of the sun after six months of darkness.

"But you? I call you Ishmael," Wes says.

"Ishmael, hunh?"

Wes drops his hand and favors her with a genuine smile. "You'll be the one who'll talk about all the people who got lost. People from Sunnydale. People from L.A." He nods as if he's made up his mind on the matter. "Yes, I really do believe you are Ishmael."

She knows that this is important, but she'll be damned if she knows what it means. She reaches down, slips the strap of the duffle bag over her shoulder and says, "Goodbye, Wes."

She turns and walks deeper into the sunlight.

* * *

She dumps her duffle to the dusty ground and tries to remember what town she's in. Failing miserably on that score, she drops to the ground next to her bag and fixes her eyes on the high school across the street.

Christ that building has seen better days.

With one hand she reaches in and pulls out a battered copy of _Moby Dick_ that she bought — not liberated — from a second-hand store. She opens the book to a folded down page, lifts the flap, and silently reads the paragraph. A frown line appears between her eyes as she re-reads it again, puzzling out Ahab's mental wandering on the nature of sin and vengeance.

She doesn't understand Ahab. She feels like she should, but she just can't. How can killing a dumb animal, no matter how white or how big, give him his leg back? And when you start chasing monsters and ignoring the rolling sea underneath your feet, well — there's only one way it can end.

She's pretty sure that it's not a happy ending.

Wes called himself Angel's Starbuck and called her Ishmael. What it means, she doesn't know. Maybe when she finishes the book she'll figure it out.

Who's she kidding? The book's a tough read and she was never much for reading the classics in even comic book form. She figures she might finish it in a year or two.

She hears the sound of a muffled bell. She closes the book and tenderly tucks it into her bag hoping like hell that if Angel finds his white whale his ending will be happier. Right now she's got a bigger fish to fry.

If her dreams are right, there's a Slayer in the crowd who could use a helping hand, starting with being told what — no, who — she is.

Faith's not sure if she's the one to tell her, but she has to try. There's no one else left willing to bother with such greasy kid stuff.

As children pour out of the high school she wonders briefly if the girl will be like her, or like Buffy, or like someone in between. Will she be a loner? Or will she have a Willow and Xander who'll die trying to help? Or will someone like Angel have come along and filled her head with tales about unseen monsters bigger than the world that need Slaying?

The thing is someone has to tell this girl a simple truth, one that got somehow lost among the multiple apocalypses, destinies, prophecies, and Powers playing humanity like chess pieces on a board:

_If you're going to save a world full of people, you have to save them one at a time._


End file.
